The Muggle
by LeoGryffin
Summary: Hermione has been cast out of the Wizarding World under dubious circumstances. After five years of exile, a sinister plot emerges against her. Former enemies, and old friends, are full of surprises on her journey of self-discovery and redemption.
1. Chapter 1 and Author's Notes

**A/N: Standard disclaimers... J K Rowling owns some of the characters - the ones you recognize. The plot is mine. LiveJournal is a community project; I couldn't find actual company information other than the list of employees, but whoever they might be lay claim to the copyright for the site name and concept. **

**I've been an internet community person since very early days - since 1988, to be precise. I've seen many permutations - from posting with other friends via BBS, with modems on early C64s, Atari, and Macs, to the first days of Compuserve and AOL, to the earliest volunteer-driven Web communities, to large commercially-run communities (I used to actually get paid money to run one of these.) LiveJournal is yet another iteration of 'Net community - blogging and journaling aren't brand-new, of course, but probably LiveJournal is the most personal, organic version of community yet. In the "olden days" of, say, 1999, communities set topics and people commented on the topics - you didn't follow people, you followed threads. LiveJournal makes the "cult of personality" real.**

**Taking off my web historian hat and moving on to the story. Enjoy.**

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"It's late, Hermione. We can finish this later. Go home," Karen said, not unkindly. "You've been putting in more than your fair share of hours this week. The project really isn't due for another month. You're well ahead of schedule."

"Just a little while longer, Karen," was Hermione Granger's quick, and certainly expected, response. "Another hour." At her supervisor's stern look, Hermione put her hands up in a gesture of submission. "I promise. No more than an hour."

"Make sure it's so. I'll have Henry kick your arse out the door," Karen said, referring to the night janitor. "Good night, love. And I don't want to hear that you've been skulking around here until Monday. Is that understood? I'm still the boss around here, I think."

Hermione didn't say anything, but made a rude hand gesture that spoke for her. Laughing, Karen left, shutting the door to the office firmly behind her. After her boss finally departed, Hermione allowed herself a moment to get a fresh cup of tea, and then turned back to the problem with the template she was working on.

Hours later, she was completely lost in thought when Henry appeared in the doorway. "You'd best get along home, Miss Granger," the elderly man said pleasantly. "Karen said you were to be forcibly removed right about now."

Hermione chuckled. "All right, all right. I know when I'm outnumbered." She picked up her purse and her iBook, and with a wave to Henry, was off into the London night. It was only a few blocks to her flat from the office. 

As she walked up the two flights to her place, she felt a sudden, obvious surge of magical energy behind her, reaching out to her, touching her as if it were corporeal. Unsure if the magic was malevolent - and unable in a split-second to think of a scenario where it would _not_ be, alone and unprotected in the middle of the night in a largely quiet building - fear began to manifest itself in the pit of her belly as she reacted instinctively.

She wheeled around, nearly losing her balance on the stairs, but saw nothing. She ran the last few steps to her flat, fumbling with the keys and wishing feverishly that she still owned a wand. She wasn't certain why she was so terrified - there wasn't anyone in the hall - but she could feel _something_. She managed to get the lock open, and ran into the flat, slamming and bolting the door behind her. Breathing hard, she put her head on the door frame, shaking, and began mentally dissecting the unusual occurrence. A thought that hadn't occurred to her in a long while began to frighten her again. She was completely vulnerable, and extremely alone.

Trying to dismiss the incident as paranoid overworked tiredness, though knowing deep down it might not have been so at all, she turned towards the nearest chair to sit down weakly.

*~*~*

It wasn't that she wasn't exposed to magic now and then - in London, it really couldn't be helped. There were wizards and witches in the city, of course. Most Muggles were fairly unaware of their presence, but she was not. She was sensitive to them because she was a witch herself - or at least, she used to be. When she passed a witch or wizard on the street, she knew without taking in the unusual clothing they usually wore or the furtive glances around. She could feel the crackle of the energy in the air. But of course, she would have known they were magical even if she couldn't feel them. The look in their eyes spoke to the truth of the matter, every time. First the surprise at seeing her face, then the loathing, followed by the downcast gaze that avoided hers entirely. Once she had seen Fred - or possibly George - Weasley in an Underground station. He had probably held her gaze the longest. But the language his eyes spoke forced her to look away first, living the shame and grief of the last five years as if it had all happened yesterday.

So many people's deaths that she had been held responsible for. So many good people. And, frankly, some of the blame surely did rest with her. Every single grieving widow, friend, lover, child, parent could all point their fingers at her for the catastrophe. But, what the wizarding world had done to her, instead of simply pointing and whispering, was far worse. They cast her out of their world, snapped her wand, and banned her from practicing magic. They ran lurid and extremely exaggerated stories of how things had happened in the _Daily Prophet_, so that everyone could be informed - so that there was no chance of her not being recognized. Even after five years of being an outcast in both worlds, they saw her and they whispered about how she had been responsible for the murder of her best friends and several others. Had been secretly controlled by the Dark Lord. Had sold them all out.

At the trial, she had maintained her innocence. She explained patiently that she had been under the Imperius curse, that she had been forced to do the things she had done. But whether or not that was true was of no consequence to the court of public opinion. Someone had to pay for what had happened. She was the most convenient scapegoat, made so by the ministry and by Dumbledore himself. What burned inside, even after all these years, was that she _had_ been partly responsible for the deaths of Ron, Seamus, Ginny, Neville, Remus Lupin, Professor Sprout, Hagrid, and several other schoolchildren. They had all died because she had opened the gates of Hogwarts to the Dark Lord for the final battle. Harry and Dumbledore had defeated Voldemort, but Hermione had exposed the innocents to the threat rather than Harry and Dumbledore facing him away from the school and away from the children therein.

The Weasleys had been so kind and loving to her before that fateful night. In the courtroom, she stared into the cold, dead eyes of Molly Weasley, as she testified for the jury how she had now lost three children thanks to Hermione Granger. Percy had been fighting on Voldemort's side, and was killed as well on the Hogwarts grounds that fateful night.

She had railed and cried. It was extremely unfair. Yes, she had done it, but she wasn't in control. She was under Bellatrix Lestrange's _Imperius_. Couldn't they see that? But, she had been scapegoated successfully by the Weasleys and other wizarding families who had lost children. Dumbledore didn't try and protect her; in fact, he seemed to encourage the sham behind the scenes, to "help the wizarding world heal". Harry wasn't any help. The final battle had left him comatose and in St. Mungo's, where he would live out the rest of his days.

The war had ended, and the children who had been responsible for ending it, no matter what part they had played, were no longer a part of the wizarding world. Life had gone on.

Hermione found herself an outcast at the age of eighteen - because of the evidence of the _Imperius_ cast on her, the Ministry chose to force her to be a Muggle rather than to put her in Azkaban, apparently thinking themselves lenient. Her parents welcomed her back, not asking too many questions, for which she was grateful. However, when she began trying to get into college, she was told that Hogwarts wasn't a "real school". Now, with no secondary school on her record, university was out. She hadn't learned to type or use a computer, even, which denied her even the lowest menial office jobs. Desperate, she enrolled in a business course, and eventually became an administrator for a publishing firm. It was drudgery, but it paid the bills and allowed her to finally move out on her own. She was truly alone, for the first time in her life.

Hermione was far too restless to languish long in an administrative job. She demonstrated her skill at research and eventually became a copywriter for the publishing company, then as the Internet began to boom, she began to learn the intricacies of web publishing and design. She was now a senior consultant with one of the few design firms that had survived the Internet shakeout of the new century.

Every time she felt as if she had put the past behind her, she would have an experience like seeing one of the Weasley twins on the underground. Or, she would see an owl in broad daylight, or automatically reach for her wand when it obviously wasn't there. It wasn't easy shedding something that had been so intrinsic to her nature. She could often feel the magic in herself, yearning to be set free. She went about her mostly solitary life, working twelve-hour days and then going home to eat take-away and work some more. She didn't make close friends in the workplace, and rarely went out of an evening. She was polite and detached with her colleagues and supervisor, and spent most of her time shut up in her disorderly office. Her clients were mostly only in contact via email or phone.

All-in-all, her existence was fairly devoid of contact with real, flesh-and-blood people. It couldn't be helped. Friendship only reminded her of the pain of losing Ron and Harry, and the rest of her friends from the wizarding world. 

Her one indulgence came at night, after she had eaten and worked herself into a stupor. She would shut down her design program, open up a browser, and start reading her LiveJournal friends list, and occasionally writing a comment here and there. She had gotten involved with an Internet community of literate, generally witty twenty-somethings in a fit of loneliness a year back, and had stayed involved. She kept a strictly made-up name, and found that in the anonymity of the Internet, she was able to let a little of the angst and pain out to faceless Internet acquantainces. Truth be told, her anonymous friends had probably kept her sane. She read about their lives, and shared small slices of hers. Hermione found that when she shut off the laptop in the wee hours, she felt a little bit more grounded and a little less alone.

~*~*~

Hermione stood with her hands on the door, attempting to sense magic on the other side. She couldn't feel anything anymore. _My imagination_, she mused. Even through the fear, part of her had hoped that a wizard would step from behind an invisibility cloak to tell her that Harry had awakened, or that all had been forgiven. She knew it was foolish, but she couldn't help it. She sighed, and put her laptop on the desk, flicking it on and checking her wireless connection, then signing on to her LiveJournal as BeWitched. _Your dose of reality is with a bunch of people you don't even know. How pathetic, Granger._

After pouring herself a rather large glass of wine, she checked her personal email and headed to the site to see what was going on with her friends. Not much, really; JuneBug had found herself yet another one-night stand that she was trying to stretch into a relationship, and BigBen2000 had posted a highly amusing treatise on the current state of British politics. Flint had just returned from a soul-searching trip on the highways of America - she'd read his account of the road later - and her closest online pal, QuIdiot, had been looking for an old friend but with no success. She read his tale of woe, chuckling to herself how he could turn even a sad unrequited love story into something riotously funny. Good for QI. She posted a quick response to him, sending him virtual hugs and Guinness.

Reading her friends' journals and comments helped calm her nerves, and soon her brush with prickly feelings was nearly forgotten. She decided to write a quick entry.

_Did you ever get the feeling you were being watched? Several times today, I've had to scan the room to reassure myself no one else is in it. I keep feeling like someone's walking up behind me._

_Perhaps I'm going insane faster than I thought. A largish bottle of wine ought to cure that, right? Sigh, maybe I'll just go to bed. Night all._

_Mood: exhausted  
Music: theme from Psycho_

She shut off her computer, rubbing her eyes as she stumbled off to her bedroom. 

Ten minutes into sleep, she bolted straight upright. That feeling was there again, stronger than ever and prickling at her nerves. Someone - or something - magical was nearby. She was certain of it. Flipping on the light and finding nothing, she did another survey of the flat. Nothing. Now thoroughly rattled and unable to sleep, she went back into the bedroom, opening her top bureau drawer to retrieve the only magical items she still owned. She pulled out her photo album.

Forty minutes went by as she did her semi-annual penance with the photos. Occasionally, when she started to finally feel comfortable being a Muggle, she would pull out these photos to remind herself of what she lost when she was banished. An unsmiling Ron and Harry shunned her in the first photo, turning their backs upon her. She knew she would never see them again. In another photo, she stood with nearly everyone who had been killed. They were at the final Quidditch match of her Hogwarts career. Lupin had come to watch, and had forced his old nemesis Snape to sit with him in the Gryffindor stands to her upper left in the photo, much to Snape's chagrin; Harry and Ron were seated on either side of Hermione, and Hagrid was behind them. Everyone was watching the action, but when she looked at each of the deceased, they looked back and seemed to be asking her why she had done it; with the exception of Ron and Harry, who left the photo each time she looked at it. It was the same way with the other photos; the representations of the departed looked accusingly, reproachfully upon her.

Satisfied that penance was over, she began to return the photos to the drawer. Something caught her eye, however, causing her to examine one of the pictures more closely.

Professor Snape, in the Quidditch photo, nodded to her. She leaned closer, watching in fascination. After a while, she realized that he was the first wizard that had not averted his gaze or looked upon her as if she was a murderer, ready to kill someone precious in cold blood. Five years, and her Snape-photo finally wasn't going to take points off her just for living.

That was something, anyway. She replaced the photo in the drawer, willing herself to sleep and ignore what was most certainly random magical energy.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so much for the comments and reviews, both here and in my LiveJournal. I appreciate the kindness and the time you spend giving feedback more than you can imagine, and hope the story continues to be enjoyable for you. For those who have asked about updating: the current plan is to add a chapter each week until the story is finished.**

~*~*~*~*~*~

The morning after the incident, Hermione awoke to bright sun streaming through the window. She intended to work at home; there were no other plans for the day except for a quick walk to the market, so she'd be free to tackle her design project in peace.

Hermione pulled her hair back in a ponytail and donned a light jumper and jeans for her trip in the glorious October morning to pick up vegetables. Walking quickly through the streets, she mused over the unnerving experience of the night before. It truly had felt like a wizard - or witch, she reminded herself - had been walking behind her. Perhaps someone in an invisibility cloak had followed her? It was possible...

_But what purpose would that serve?_, she asked herself sternly. She was the wizarding version of a _persona non grata_; she had nothing to offer anyone who would own such a cloak. Perhaps someone needed a nice potions ingredients website design or owl-order storefront, or something. She snorted at the thought of anyone from her former life using the Internet instead of parchment and owls, and somehow felt considerably more at ease and cheerful. Despite the momentary terror of the day before, she had finally become convinced she had imagined the entire thing. She had overreacted to random fluctuations in the magical energy that lit up all of the city. It was just too implausible that someone would have singled Hermione Granger out for particular notice, other than derision. Feeling a weight off her shoulders, she continued on to the market.

After making her purchases in the sun-dappled stalls of the outdoor marketplace, Hermione impulsively decided to stop by the corner pub. Coffee and breakfast out were rare indulgences in her usual bland world of tea and toast taken in quiet solitude on her balcony, but she found she did occasionally crave the normalcy of human contact. The pub was nearly deserted at ten o'clock, between mealtimes, so the barkeep busied himself making her a fresh, aromatic pot of coffee and chattering her ear off about a huge row he'd broken up the night before. Hermione was just about to regret having come in for breakfast when she felt the unmistakable prickle of magic again, directly behind her. She wheeled around, but saw nothing.

"Did you see someone standing behind me? Just now?" she asked the barkeep.

"No, m'dear. Sorry. I'll check on your hash, now, be right back." The bartender departed for the kitchens, leaving her to once again experience a curious mingle of fear and curiosity. "Who's there?"

There was no answer, but a family of four sitting nearby looked askance at her. She turned away, staring into her coffee cup and willing the spirit of Sybill Trelawney to help her interpret the swirls of cream. She could not shake the feeling of being watched, and as she had done a few times over the past years, wished for a wand. A simple spell could force anyone nearby to reveal themselves. Of course, she could no longer perform a simple spell, either in defense or even simply to transfigure a matchstick to a needle. This thought, so frequent in the early days, rarely hit her with the force it did now. She was naked and very vulnerable. 

The rational part of her mind reeled with the options - why were they interested? Which dysfunctional bloody wizard was stalking her? What the _hell _are you going to do, Granger?

The barkeep reappeared with a steaming tray of hash and eggs, to find his customer gathering her packages and withdrawing her purse. "Can you package that to take away, please? I...something important...has come up."

Packages in hand, she sprinted home to the flat, feeling that presence with her the entire way. Keys at the ready, she ran up the stairs, and quickly turned the lock. As she opened the door, a bolt of blue fire suddenly shot out from out of nowhere and closed the door again. Another hand firmly grabbed her arm, and pinned it back against her, causing her packages of vegetables and breakfast to clatter to the floor. Before she could struggle, she heard a curiously familiar female voice bark out a binding spell. She was completely trapped. 

Struggling blindly against the magic that now held her, she felt a surge of panic. Hermione was no stranger to this feeling; she had been entangled in so many magical scrapes in her childhood, that for a moment the familiarity was bizarrely comforting. Furthermore, the emptiness retreated a modicum when she realized that this was the first real contact she'd had with magic in years - even this negative attention felt strangely compelling. An unbidden flashback Snape lying on the floor came to her. _We attacked a teacher!_ If she'd lived through that, surely she would persevere even now, right?

She was roughly lifted by cold, silent hands, and then abruptly yanked down by much warmer hands and thrown against a wall to the right side of her door. She winced at a sharp crack that came from her legs, causing sharp pain. She was still bound, and now facing the wall so that she could not see what was happening. Through the haze of pain and uncertainty, Hermione heard a male voice utter something she couldn't quite understand. There was a flash, some shuffling sounds of steps, a muffled angry wail, what sounded like a slap. Another flash.

And then, nothing but silence.

Apprehension gave way to fury in the next several seconds. She couldn't see her attackers; moreover, nothing else had happened to her for nearly a minute, causing her to channel what was left of that buried Gryffindor bravery. And to make matters more insane, she was lying in a pool of congealed breakfast and bell peppers, with a badly bruised knee. "Who is there? Show yourself, coward!" she yelled, more bravely than she actually felt.

No response. She could still feel a presence, of that much she was sure. Someone was there.

"Either kill me, or let me up. But be quick about it. I'm hungry and tired and..." Her voice was shaking as she trailed off. She knew her attacker wouldn't be fooled by her pretend nonchalance. _Jesus, Hermione, you used to be very good at subterfuge. What the hell happened to you, anyway?_

Finally, she heard the male voice again, murmuring the spell to let her out of her body bind. Before she could say anything, she could feel the magic leave her presence. A sudden relief flooded her, mingled with a curious disappointment that she didn't find out who, or what, was responsible for the incident.

*~*~*

Still trembling, Hermione gathered what was left of her packages, entered her flat, and sank down at her desk. She started typing a very strange entry into her LiveJournal. She knew it wouldn't make much sense to her friends, but somehow, she needed to get some of these emotions out of her system. 

_Some years ago in school, I was a part of a group of people that have since shunned me. It was a whole different life; all-consuming, something I felt I'd be a part of forever. Due to decisions and situations entirely out of my hands, and my own weakness and inability to fight off the power of suggestion, I was forced to leave this group and renounce everything I had been a part of and had fought for. I had no choice in the matter. I had to forge an entirely new life for myself, which was incredibly difficult, but I've managed to get by._

_Five years have passed, and today I had a close brush with my old life. I've intersected marginally with it from time to time, seeing those that I once counted as my friends on a train platform or on the street, but in this case I came more-or-less face-to-face with people from my past - and possibly none that I would have been happy to see when I was a part of that world. As uncomfortable - and, dare I say frightening - as the situation was, I here and now admit to you people that was thrilled by the contact with my old life. There, I've said it here, so it must be so. It wasn't a pleasant experience, and yet I crave more. I have questions - I want to catch up. But, as much as I feel like I want this, I know that I can never return to my former life._

_No need to comment, I'm just plotting my emotions here for my own self-indulgence._

_Mood: Pensive  
Music: the clinking of my wine glass, even though it's still morning_

It was a few moments before comments started to be posted in response to her entry. Most of her friends seemed to be of the opinion that she should hang the past and move on and stop dwelling on it, but some advised revisiting her old life and satisfying her curiosity about it.

The most interesting response, naturally, was from QuIdiot. "I sense there is a lot you aren't telling us about your mysterious former life, BW," he wrote. "I'm thinking that to shake it out of you, a good drunk is in order this evening for our Londoners. Anyone else game to get out and get pissed?"

As sorely tempted as she was to reply in the affirmative, she held back. She knew her LiveJournal friends had met up for drinks several times, and had invited her along. She had constantly decided in favor of continued anonymity; she didn't want these people to turn into real-life friends, which was a Very Bad Thing given her past history. The prospect frightened her almost more than the _Petrificus Totalus_ from earlier, truth be told. She wanted to simply be a very quiet, private, citizen. Pay her taxes, eat solitary meals, cry herself to sleep with loneliness. Why complicate things with actual human friends? The pain she knew was less frightening, all told, than the pain of uncertainty.

She felt the pull of QI's suggestion, though, especially when others began to join in with "What are you doing right now? Let's go out and have an all-day drunk, whotsay?" She knew that QI was male, and had often wondered about meeting him. 

"I'm game," another response came. Trust her LiveJournal acquaintances to turn her plea to make sense of her life into a party. They began posting pub suggestions, and oddly enough, settled on the pub right down the street - the one where she had nearly had breakfast before she had run, terrified, before being accosted outside her door. She felt even more unsettled. Should she go only a few steps away to be around people that ostensibly cared about her - and give up her anonymity and enforced distance? Should she stay home, drink alone, and blot out the pain again? Why was she being so ridiculously stubborn about this, anyway? _I'm twenty-bloody-three years old...am I going to spend my entire life as a hermit? This world has nothing to do with your past!_ It was no use, of course; she'd had this conversation with herself before.

Resolutely, she shut off her computer, and got into bed, pulling the pillows over her head. She knew she simply couldn't afford the intimacy of meeting these people in real life; she needed them to be her anonymous haven, and was too shaken from the events of the day to wish to venture outside into the unknown again for a while. For a change, work would have to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

At the pub, a blond man looked around anxiously, hoping a particular one of his LiveJournal mates would show. He knew a few of them would be there, but he really wanted to see if this one would come out of her shell and join them, finally. He'd pushed this pub, knowing it was in her neighborhood. It seemed important to him make contact with her now that the threat had been established and verified. He looked around at their other friends, getting loud and happy on John Courage and Guinness and having a rollicking time. A few mentioned BeWitched, but lost the thought of her in the drunkenness of the moment. He felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, and took the call quickly. "Malfoy."

"Go somewhere quieter," the voice hissed over the din of the pub. "I'll call again in 2 minutes."

Malfoy looked around, and told his friends he would be off in the loo for a moment. Once he got there, he waited for the phone to ring again.

"Snape, what the hell _happened _today?" Malfoy said. "Damn! Hermione seemed extremely upset. She wrote some things about encountering her old life in her journal - you know that's far more than she's ever let on publicly about her situation."

"As well she should be upset," the voice on the other end said, "what with your mother's disgusting tramp of a whore attempting to abduct her today."

"I knew it - I knew it!" Malfoy exclaimed. "Severus, she's got to know the truth. Did you tell her? Did you arm her? How did you get her away from them? I should go to her right now - I tried to get her to come out and meet me at the pub, but she hasn't shown."

"_No_," Snape said in a commanding tone, "they already know that someone knows their scheme, and we cannot afford to blow your cover. I had to stun that...bitch...to get Hermione safe. You need to just remain calm, and keep your usual tabs on her, and let me know if your intelligence indicates I should step in again. If she does not report in on your infernal Muggle machine once per day, please owl me immediately. Keep your distance, Draco."

"I understand. But I think_ you _should start watching her LiveJournal, Severus," Malfoy said. "She doesn't let much on, but just my reading between the lines last night probably saved her arse. And ours, to be quite frank."

Snape snorted. "There aren't a lot of Internet connections at Hogwarts, Draco. And I haven't the first clue how to use a computer, despite your attempts to get me interested over the years. You know how I feel about this dratted Muggle technology you adore so much."

"Well, _you know_ full well that I can get you hooked up without anyone knowing. I'd appreciate a second set of eyes, to be honest - and we could dispense with the owls if we have email. I'm afraid I might miss a clue, especially now that they have made their first move. Blast Dumbledore!!! Why hasn't he..."

"Because," Snape said evenly, "he'd probably be happier if she _was_ dead, as this business would be ended. He won't interfere in the matter and may well have set the whole thing in motion, in my opinion. She's a black mark on his record. Probably the only thing standing between him and the Ministry head chair. You know this as well as I."

"I wish we still had the Dumbledore I remember as a more sanguine child," Draco sighed. "He seemed so benevolent and wise and _insufferably_ saccharine in my years at school. Now I truly understand the pressures you have been under all these years..."

"To be quite blunt," Snape interrupted, "I don't think Albus ever was the kindly and ever-wise man he wanted people to believe he was. He uses people, Draco. He used a young girl and two young boys to defeat his great enemy, leaving one dead, one comatose, and another exiled rather than calling them heroes - he was the only one to accept credit as you know. He's using you to keep tabs on people he doesn't like at the Ministry, and of course on Hermione. He has used me for many purposes, each more distasteful than the last." His voice trailed off to a near-whisper at the end, making Draco wince.

"Severus?" Draco cleared his throat nervously. "Why do you care so much about this? About protecting her?"

Snape's voice grew chillier. "I don't care about the girl, Draco. I care about our plan. Only about our plan, and she's a part of it even if she is unaware of that fact. Keeping her alive ensures our success."

Draco stubbornly replied, "Let's get you on her journal, Severus. I need backup." He heard the older man sigh.

"Angels and ministers of grace, defend us," Severus said dryly. "First you have me using _telephones_, now this?"

Draco hung up, smiling, and rejoined the party. "Another round for everyone," he said, once again scanning the room for Hermione Granger. Satisfied that she was not there, he half-listened to the swirling conversation and thought about how he was going to get Snape hooked into Hermione's life.

~*~*~

"Lucius," Dumbledore said, "do come in. Tea?"

"I'm not here for your company," Lucius Malfoy said, seating himself in a grand gesture. "I have news that should interest you."

"Indeed? My sources say that the first attempt to bring her in resulted in dismal failure. I'm warning you, Lucius. I went to bat to get you and your wife out of Azkaban. The act took a pound of my flesh, and so I extract that much from you - with interest. I expect you to take care of this problem to settle the matter."

"Of course, Albus," Lucius said smoothly, "but there seems to be a minor difficulty. Severus appears to have involved himself in this business."

Dumbledore looked alarmed. "Why would Severus be involved?"

"I don't know," Lucius said, "but he poses a threat to our mission that cannot be ignored. I thought you should know before we proceed with another attempt...so that you may rectify the situation as you wish."

Dumbledore nodded, once. "Thank you, Lucius. I will contact you soon."

After his visitor left, Dumbledore steepled his hands, staring into the fire. "I never thought it could come to this," a voice said from behind him.

"I'll thank you to keep your rather large nose out of my business, Phineas," Dumbledore said to the portrait. "Go back to sleep. This is no concern of yours."

"Really? A plot to kidnap an innocent girl - who, by the way, was cast out of the wizarding world for an offense that was largely overdramatized for the courts by yourself - isn't a concern? I never thought I'd see the day that Albus Dumbledore became as twisted as the men he opposed. Consorting with Lucius Malfoy! It will bring your downfall."

In one swift motion, Dumbledore stood and grabbed the portrait, throwing it casually in a closet. The other portrats hung, silently, knowing that nothing they would say would change the path the current Headmaster was on. It was too late. Dumbledore turned to a small wizarding photo of his brother on the credenza behind him. "Tell me, Aberforth. What would you do in my place?" Of course, the photograph offered nothing but a crooked smile and silence.

Dumbledore sat again, head in hands. Snape's involvement complicated matters, but it could be worked around. A little misinformation and a few wild goose chases, and he'd be out of Dumbledore's considerable hair. He couldn't simply get rid of him, of course; he was too valuable for a plethora of reasons. Albus rose and threw a pinch of Floo powder in the hearth. "Severus! A word, please."

~*~*~

"You will *not* contact Hermione Granger. Is that clear, Severus?"

"Crystal, Headmaster. Though I fail to understand why you are making an issue out of a former student that I've had no interest in for many years." The sneer was firmly on his place, covering the worry that perhaps his association with Draco Malfoy would be discovered and the scheme blown.

"I have ways of knowing, as you well know. I'm still a more accomplished Occlumens than you'll ever be. And I can make your final years painful, or not. The choice is yours."

"Is that a threat, Headmaster? You're threatening me with mind-rape, again, without so much as even a little bit of foreplay? I thought we'd been over this tired old ground before..."

"Severus," Albus's voice held a familiar warning tone, with the all-too-oft repeated reminder for Professor Snape of how much he stood to lose. If the Headmaster ever saw fit to drop his protection of his former-Death Easter Potions Master, his fate would undoubtedly include Azkaban. The years of blackmail definitely took their toll, but Severus knew how to play the old coot - even when he behaved as erratically as he had been the last few weeks.

Snape sighed, crossing his arms in a gesture that seemed to speak of both acquiescence and defiant ill-humor. "May I go?"

Albus watched his wayward employee leave, certain as always that he was a man of his word, and that he could look for no more trouble from that quadrant. It had been helpful numerous times to have Snape's balls in a vise the way he did. He could not afford any further interference in the Granger matter.

~*~*~

A package arrived to the office on Monday evening for Hermione, delivered by Henry the night janitor, who clucked at the late hours his charge was keeping again as she waved him off. Oddly, there was no return address, which made her quite apprehensive given the events of the weekend. She nearly dropped it when she opened it; she looked around to make certain no one was there before she brought the gift out of the package. There was a note: "It was wrong to put you out among the Muggles without a defense against the unfriendly wizards that are certain to come looking for you now. This wand is not registered with Ollivander's and the Ministry and thus cannot easily be traced. The core is of unicorn hair. Use it sparingly, but well." The package contained one beautiful wand, cherry wood and unicorn tail hair. She estimated the length at about eight inches. It looked much like an Ollivander's creation, but this was clearly one of those fabled illegally-made wands that the Death Eaters had favored back in the day.

She wasn't at all certain which person she knew could have sent her the wand, or how she'd be able to use it without inviting Ministry scrutiny despite the admonition that it was unregistered. They were able to scan and pick up the use of magic by unregistered creatures - why would it be different for her? She'd read about their methods of catching unregistered practioners of illegal magic in another lifetime for her pursuit of Rita Skeeter, after all. But at this point, she didn't care. She slipped the wand into her waistband, feeling the smooth wood and wondering fleetingly if magic was something that came back to you even if you didn't use it - like riding a bicycle. Smiling, she realized the fear of her unknown stalker was already lessened as she turned to her computer, beginning an email to a client as if her life hadn't just changed dramatically.

Within a few days, the routine of having a wand tucked into her undergarments became a great comfort to Hermione. She still felt as if she was being shadowed at times, but the surges of energy around her seemed to bother her less even if she did feel very self-conscious and exposed. She wasn't sure exactly why she still felt so vulnerable, but had concluded her imagination had gone into overdrive after her near-abduction. Hermione forced herself to focus again on her work, writing small updates in her journal in the evenings and continuing the conversation with her friends. It was as if the unreality of her brush with the magical world had become only as significant as a bad dream intruding on the quietly desperate, wholly mundane existence of her daily life.

It was nearly bedtime on Friday night, nearly a week after the abortive abduction. She pulled out the Quidditch final photo that included Professor Snape. Again, he was watching her with narrowed eyes, but not avoiding her. Everyone else walked away or looked at the ground, but Snape stood stock-still and managed to look...if not normal, less frighening, at any rate.

While watching the photo, she saw Draco Malfoy swoop into the corner of the picture on his broom. Oddly, he didn't even sneer in her direction; instead, he gave her a friendly wave, and flew off. Obviously, she thought, wizarding photos must age in odd ways. Draco certainly had been the worst kind of git and Snape was more horrible. Insanity.

She sat down at her computer, and typed another entry. It was hard to explain herself without giving away Wizard photos, of course, but she tried anyway.

_When I was in school, I knew several people that I considered very unpleasant. One was a teacher; another was a student my age. Both went out of their way to make me and my friends upset on a daily basis. I don't look back with fondness on either one of them. _

_However, now that I am estranged from my former life, I find that these two don't seem to look upon me with the same judgment my former "friends" did. I am at a loss as to explain this, as they would be the last two that I'd believe in. Strangely, recent events have led me to believe they may not have as harsh an opinion as I think others do._

_To the two of you...a drink in good cheer._

_Mood: tired  
Music: Shostakovich Symphony #5_

She busied herself getting ready for bed, then heard the chime for new email from the iBook. Someone commenting on her entry, no doubt. She couldn't resist a peek. It was QI.

"Anytime you want to AIM or YM, let me know. Something tells me it wouldn't be as bad as you think."

She smiled. Maybe someday. She started to shut down her computer, when another email came in. It was from a username unfamiliar to her. Bats50. She opened the email gingerly. It always bothered her when someone she didn't know read her journal. Perhaps, she thought, she should keep her entries friends-only.

"I've just read through your entire journal at a friend's insistence. What a waste of time. Your self-indulgence is pitiful. Grow up and spare us all the drama."

At first she felt as if someone had slapped her - hard - and then thrown ice water on for good measure. Within seconds, she surprised herself with an unexpected laugh - a genuine, hearty laugh, unlike anything she'd mustered in months. That was refreshing honesty! She looked over her journal for a moment, and had to admit that most of her entries were certainly self-indulgent, whiny introspection. She checked out Bats50's identity, but he - Hermione wasn't sure why she thought it was a "he", but the words seemed oddly masculine and familiar - divulged nothing about himself on his bio page. She decided to add this very honest Batman to her friends list so she could work on the hateful nosy prat, and then switched off the lights for a well-deserved rest. She tossed and turned, wondering which "friend" had turned this Bat on to her journal, before she dropped off to dream restless dreams of Dark wizards under cloaks, calling her name under moonless skies of fire and anger. 

Not-so-many-miles away in a pre-industrial dungeon in an invisible castle, Bats50 found himself in his darkest of secret rooms staring at a bright computer screen, shaking his head slowly. How Draco had managed the computer within the walls of Hogwarts, he wasn't sure...but the charms that allowed it to operate wirelessly, feeding off a cellular tower nearby, were nothing short of some of the most impressive magic he'd seen from any former student. He'd never admit it to Draco, of course, but the boy had turned into an amazingly powerful wizard. It was appalling that a power of that magnitude was such a Muggle-phile these days, but it seemed to be a side-effect of his work. And, the work was too important to begrudge him his fascination with the outside world that he was now a part of.

Now Draco was dragging Severus into his own private hell of Muggle contraptions, one-by-one. Charming. Next the little prat would insist that he wear jeans and combat boots in direct imitation of Draco's personal style. Ridiculous.

His thoughts turned to the problem of Dumbledore, and he stretched his limbs, wincing as they cracked, before he put his head in his hands. The mission had become exponentially more difficult. The man had always meddled at the most inopportune times, but this time it was crucial that he not garner further suspicion in his surveillance of Granger. It wasn't the first time Severus had been at odds with the Headmaster; he shuddered remembering the fury Dumbledore unleashed in a shadowy earlier time in their relationship, one that had indeed "kept him in line", as Dumbledore would say. He was still a more formidable enemy than anyone alive, and it would not do to be discovered in a double-cross after being warned. It was time for Plan B.

~*~*~

"Well?" Lucius demanded. "What is the plan now?"

"Well, her experience didn't seem to scare her enough, if that's what you mean," the woman sitting to Narcissa's right said. "But you know how much I need this to be successful, Lucius. Don't worry. It will all happen as planned, as long as you got Dumbledore to take care of the little issue I encountered on her stairwell landing. I can't very well afford to follow her again when there is company present."

"He says he and Snape have come to an agreement. And Dumbledore has my son spying on her, as well - I know we haven't spoken to him much lately, but I suspect he would give us any information we need. Despite his work among the -" Lucius' lip curled in distaste, "-Muggles, he's been an asset to both his official Ministry position and our family's interests."

"Indeed," Narcissa leaned forward. "Well, hopefully we can soon wash our hands of this unpleasantness and move on with our lives, no?" She looked hopefully over at her pink-clad lover, and back at her husband.

Lucius raised an eyebrow, marveling that his wife could find anything attractive in this horrid woman; but keeping them both around had its advantages for now. "It's up to Miss Umbridge to finish the job, now that I've cleared the obstacles. I want the girl here as soon as possible so we can complete this business, and then you and Dolores can go off and hump each other somewhere else. I'm sick of you both." Lucius blew kisses to the two astonished women, and closed the door behind him. The Mudblood would soon be at his disposal, and he could finish the job his associates had started five years before. 

Frankly, he mused, Dumbledore was making this all too easy. He'd have to remember that later when he decided who deserved mercy in the new order and who did not. The man was an old fool for the most part, but one with talents and uses that were necessary to the greater cause. If not for the death of Aberforth, of course, none of this would have been set in motion. Who could have seen that the spirit of a man who consorted with - goats, Merlin forbid - could possibly undo the greatest wizard in an age? He'd heard of worse perversions, of course, but the repurcussions of Aberforth's passing into the spirit world had opened the floodgates for a very large transfer of power, now inexplicably held in trust inside a Mudblood's soul. Shaking his head, Lucius descended the stairs into his parlour, in search of a nice snifter of brandy, where he was confronted by a man he had not expected - or cared - to see again in this lifetime.

Nodding his head pleasantly, as if it were an expected and welcome social call, Lucius smiled. "Severus, my friend. What brings you out to the Manor on such a fine October morn?"

**A/N: QuIdiot refers at one point in this chapter to AIM/YM: AOL Instant Messenger and Yahoo Messenger. Chat programs that allow for real-time discussion.**


	4. Chapter 4

"You can dispense with the faux pleasantries, Lucius," Snape drawled. "So nice to see you in the world of the living. I'm curious, however...how in the bloody hell did you manage to get out of Azkaban so early, anyway? Let us see...who is high enough up to be pulling your strings...oh, if only Tom Riddle were alive to see you consorting with his oldest enemy."

Lucius drew himself up to his full and impressive height, eyes flashing with barely controlled fury. "You don't know anything, blood traitor. If you're only here to sully my good name and cast aspersions about the company I deign to keep, you know the way out of my home."

Snape bowed his head in a mockery of deference, looking increasingly smug. "As I thought. Within twenty seconds of my passing over the threshhold, an owl will be fired off to your new Master informing him of my deep and traitorous treachery. Well, well, Malfoy. How the worm has turned. Years of demeaning me for my role - subservient, you called it. Dumbledore's little lapdog. So witty, weren't you? And now look who the poodle is. Impressive, Lucius, really. You'd think..."

At that moment, Lucius slapped Severus hard across the cheek, sending the younger man back a step. Sneering, with barely-checked laughter in his eyes, Snape turned towards his assailant. "Now you're even using Muggle methods of assault! To see the Malfoy family stoop this low - I never thought I'd see the day you dirtied your hands on the likes of a Snape. Though maybe it's your association with your Muggle-loving son..."

"Don't you dare talk about my son. _Get out of my house_."

"Perhaps I will," Snape said, "but perhaps also I can help you if you tire of working against me, and working for that old fool."

"Hem, _hem_," said a voice from the shadows near the door. Severus turned towards the sound, betraying no surprise at the type of company the Malfoys were keeping.

"Professor Umbridge, my _dear_ old friend. So good of you to drop in on our conversation," Severus said. "Let's talk about you, shall we? What is in this little kidnapping scheme for you? I think the sooner we get everyone's motivations out on the table, the more enlightened our discussion can become..."

"I don't have the slightest idea what you are babbling about," Umbridge said. "Not all that different than your rantings during our time at Hogwarts, no? My only vested interest is in being left alone with Narcissa." At this comment, Severus rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically for effect, as a mental image formed that he most definitely had to shake off before retching. Lucius looked at Severus, and a moment of understanding passed between them. For a second, they stood on the same side of the fence, when it came to Dolores Umbridge.

"Look, Severus. Go back to your little castle and play pretend-spy, and let the big boys handle this, okay?" Lucius said, amused at Snape's reaction to Dolores but valiantly trying to remain irritated in demeanor. "I can give you my word, on my mother's grave, that the Mudblood isn't marked for death. She will be fine once we have what we need."

An even more sarcastic tone crept into Severus' voice. "Oh? What is she marked for, then? Why is she suddenly so incredibly important after years of obscurity and banishment, anyway? Is Dumbledore looking for her to grant her a full pardon, or perhaps offer her a job?" Snape feigned bewilderment, causing to Umbridge to accidentally chuckle and clap her hand over her mouth in horror before regaining her composure.

"If you want to know, Severus," Dolores said in her nasal high-pitched whine, "you'll have to ask Dumbledore. We're just the - hatchet men, as it were. As you obviously seem to know, we're to bring her to Dumbledore in repayment for his assistance in getting all of our early paroles from Azkaban. We aren't privy to all his thoughts. If we were, I'd still be running Hogwarts. Pity for you."

"You _both_ used to be better liars than this," Snape said. "A shame you aren't buying what I am offering. Well, I best be off then. Lovely seeing you..."

"Wait," Dolores said, curiosity finally getting the better of her. "What exactly are you offering, Professor Snape?"

~*~*~

Hermione stared at her spanking-new PowerBook as the workday's end came and went. The nice e-commerce database she was setting up for her client flickered into a spiralling screensaver, but she didn't notice a thing. Her eyes were unfocused as her mind drifted over the events of the past several days.

For starters, even with the wand securely strapped to her thigh (by way of a handy wand-and-cell phone holster she had fashioned from scrap leather), she still was completely baffled as to what had happened and if something more sinister would befall her again in the near future. Her unknown benefactor - the sender of the anonymous wand - obviously believed she was in some danger. But from whom? What possible motive would someone from the wizarding world have to attack her now, after so many years? She certainly had nothing special to offer.

Further and deeper in her subconscious, now calling to her in her reverie, was the mystery of the photos. What in the hell was up with Snape and Draco's pictures? The more she looked at them, the closer to them she felt - even as she told herself that it was patently absurd that wizarding photos would allow her to see into current events so clearly. Normally, wizarding photos might give a clue as to what was happening currently in the lives of those pictured, but that didn't account for the actions of dead people in the photos. So much about it confused her, but she'd never had a chance to study the charms involved in creating such photos - and of course, never would, since she would not have access to wizarding texts for the rest of her life. Everything at this point was speculation; her current feeling was that perhaps something had happened in the world she left behind to finally cast doubt upon the testimony that had led to her exile. Perhaps that was wishful thinking, and she wasn't sure what could be done about it anyway. 

Mind still drifting, she thought about her friend QuIdiot. He had spent weeks pushing for her to meet him; but right as she'd been about to crack and break down to go have a drink with him, there was silence. She had asked him point-blank if he had started seeing someone - trying to understand why his singleminded interest had abruptly ended - but he had offered no explanation. He had not ignored her, of course - there was still always a snarky, fun comment on each entry she made, and they had a very spirited discussion in his journal about the relative merits of American football and "real" football. But there had not been another invitation to go out, even though she had noted that he had arranged a few times with other of their friends to grab drinks after work here or there in the intervening couple of weeks. It shouldn't be bothering her, of course. She had always turned him down in the past, and perhaps he had given up. But, despite logical explanations for this, she felt a twinge of jealousy and annoyance at the fact that she had lost control over the situation. Before, she could always say "This is all my doing. I wish to remain in social exile. I am destined to be alone." Now, her friends didn't ask anymore, and she suddenly began to crave the attention.

_Truly pathetic, you nitwit_, her inner voice said. _You need to get your shit together soon. Perhaps a vacation would clear your mind?_

She snapped to. That's precisely what the doctor ordered. London was closing in on her, for certain, and the Goddesses knew she had weeks and weeks of vacation time saved up. Time to close up shop here at the office and ask her LiveJournal buddies for vacation recommendations. Humming and bouncing out of the office, she felt rejuvenated enough that she completely missed a pair of eyes in the dimness of the stairwell watching her walk towards the front door of the office building. The owner of said eyes tried, but failed, to crack his knuckles; sighing and looking heavenward, he began to follow her down the steps and out into the night, in the direction of her flat.

~*~*~

Albus Dumbledore was nearly, but not quite, on the edge of having a pang of conscience. This was somewhat exacerbated by the prolonged absence this afternoon of his Potions Master, who had claimed he was simply going into Hogsmeade for potions ingredients. He'd hoped that Severus would keep himself removed from the goings-on where Miss Granger was concerned, but he should have known better. An unexpected surge of affection for the younger man softened him, if only briefly. He could indulge himself in those private thoughts, but the fact always remained that Severus was only as useful as he was obedient, and right now Albus' concern was the clear evidence of willful disobedience - and the fact that perhaps Severus was becoming a disciple of Albus' brother's dying madness. In many matters, he could indulge Severus in these fancies, but not this time. There were very few imperatives in Dumbledore's life that were as important as obtaining Granger.

At the beginning, when Aberforth had died and left his unusual legacy, Phineas Nigellus - always the most outspoken former Headmaster, and such an obvious Slytherin to be able to discern Albus's plans and immediately try to weasel him out of following them - explained very patiently and with oddly Muggle colloquialisms about a can of worms that did not need to be opened. Albus not understanding exactly what this was in reference to, managed to comprehend Phineas's second attempt at metaphor by using the example of Pandora's box. Indeed, that was exactly the correct reference in Hermione Granger's case. Before Aberforth had died, she had simply been a Muggle with unused magical talent that could not be focussed becuase she no longer had a wand. She had accepted her role as an outcast, and had shed her past. And certainly there was much truth to Phineas' steadfast admonition that Dumbledore had helped that along - but at the time, Albus had told himself as if it were a truth that it had seemed to be the best way to ensure both her safety, and the safety of his own position in the wizarding world. No one suspected Albus Dumbledore to be interested in power, but the lengths to which he could go to pull strings and curry favor each time the Ministry had conspired to remove him from the Headmaster's chair pointed to the fact that he too could be just as blind with love for the office he held as Fudge had been. 

What many had not been aware of - only a select few, really, including the always tight-lipped Minerva and Phineas Nigellus - was that fully half of Dumbledore's renowned magical power was on direct and forced loan from Aberforth, his brother. A charm had been placed on the boys at birth by their father, giving the elder brother, Albus, half of Aberforth's considerable power. This left Aberforth with just enough magic to get by in the wizarding world without being exceptional at anything, a position of diminished power he held until the time of his unfortunate death. Aberforth lived out his days as the secretive and generally reclusive proprietor of the Hog's Head Pub in Hogsmeade, living very quietly in obscurity other than his famous brush with the law for an unfortunate incident with a goat. It was a frame-up job if there ever was one, but one that helped along the image of a doddering, quirky fool that Albus liked to pin on him, making those in the know whisper that Albus might have arranged the whole sting operation that brought the incident to light. Aberforth spent his time both becoming an astute student of human nature, and brooding over what his life could have been if not for the calculated favoritism of their father. His brother, on the other hand, rose quickly through the ranks at Hogwarts after the downfall of Grindelwald with exceptionally powerful magic and intelligence, surrounding himself with several extremely loyal minions; some through choice like Minerva, and others with more ambiguous reasons for loyalty. Snape had been one of the latter, but had scrupulously never let Albus down. Much of that had to do with the fact that Albus only had to say a few words to the Ministry and Severus would be dementor fodder - there were a number of unsolved crimes from years past that had been perpetrated by Hogwarts' reformed Death-Eater-In-Residence. To the Ministry, Severus' good deeds since then were quite irrelevant; he would be in prison for life, end of story, if Albus decided he wished it. Albus held Severus' keys as a jailer rather than the Dementors of Azkaban, but the weight of the sentence was often the same. 

Feeling the potential encroachment of conscience prick at him even more strongly, the Headmaster reflected on Phineas' last words before Albus had dumped him in the closet. It was true that the portrait was right about how low Albus had sunk on the ethical chain. His methods were certainly driven by desperation, if he looked at it more closely than he wished to. While he might currently be in the frame of mind for self-examination, it was an exercise that ultimately would get him nowhere. He had to have Hermione to undo the damage Aberforth had done in his spitefulness - the act that Albus did not see coming, and that would be his undoing if not corrected.

Phineas had once, upon learning the truth, politely suggested that Albus simply apparate to her flat, explain the dilemma, and ask for her help. "Why all the underhanded machinations? Why bring the Malfoys and that horrid woman Umbridge into this?"

"I don't believe Miss Granger would give me what I require, Phineas. She could just as easily use the gift to come back and clear her name, which I cannot afford." 

"You wouldn't know until you tried..."

"I refuse to tip my hand to a chit of a girl! Really, Phineas, you act as though I'm planning on brutalizing her, or something. I just need what she has been mistakenly given, that which belongs to me. That's all. They bring her to me, I extract the power that is rightfully mine, and that's the end of the business...an _Obliviate_ and send her on her merry way. Good Circe knows the girl has no need of that magnitude of power, anyway..."

"That's not the point. Aberforth _chose_ her for this gift. It's not yours to take away, Albus."

"It was _mine_ to start with, Phineas. I'm sick of your moralizing. Get out of my sight. Don't you have a nap to take, or something?"

Albus's brother had been a cunning man, and as the Headmaster discovered when he laid his brother to rest and was presented the several parchments Aberforth had left behind in Albus' name, quite a bitter wizard as well. He had clearly resented Albus for years. Aberforth had apparently spent his non-barkeeping life in the Hog's Head storeroom testing charms and creating potions for the specific purpose of leeching back the magical powers that were rightfully his. Right before his death - and unfortunately, causing his death - he'd been successful. He'd cast a long-distance curse to unbind Albus and Aberforth's combined energy field and call his own to his body, returning himself to full strength. Ironically, it was the absorption of the magic of his birthright that had killed him - his body was very old and less flexible to surges of power, so his nerves seemed to only able to handle the amount of magic that he grew up with and very little more. It was as if he had received an irreversable electric shock as his nerve endings exploded with too much magical energy. As he lay, painfully dying on the floor of the storeroom of the Hog's Head, he remembered the woman who had visted his establishment a number of times on Hogsmeade weekends as a schoolgirl, planning secret societies of Dark Arts defense leages. He had admired her very much. She had been a girl whose passions included creating, learning, friendship living, and giving to others; she was not a beauty, but was clearly a remarkable witch. When she had been cast out of the wizarding world for crimes that were not her own doing, Aberforth's goals became twofold; to get back what was rightfully his, and to restore this woman to her rightful place in society. 

At the final battle with Voldemort, by miraculous chance, Aberforth had obtained Harry Potter's cloak - which hung in tatters off the comatose boy's body - and a beautifully carved, obviously non-Ollivander illegal wand off a dead Death Eater's corpse that lay nearby. Seeing the look on Severus Snape's face in the chaos of the moment, and knowing full well from whispered conversations in his pub over the years what the young man was and what he stood for, he made a decision. "Keep these safe," Aberforth had said to Snape as he shoved the items into his blood-stained hands, turning away as he whispered, "you may be able to save an innocent witch someday with these. If I do no good the rest of my life, I do this now." Later, Albus had grown angry with his brother for disposing of these magical items, which only served to make Aberforth more convinced that he had done the right thing. Severus had never gone to Albus with them, nor obviously had Aberforth divulged the keeper of the items. And now, they were being used for a great good, which is what Aberforth would have wanted.

One of Aberforth's dying acts was to use the charm he had invented to transfer his considerable - and full, not just half - power to Hermione Granger. She never had been fully aware of what had happened, and since she was a much younger witch, the magic did not affect her physically as it had affected the elder wizard. It was at this point that she developed a keen sense of magical people in her vicinity, but she was completely unaware of the power she wielded. Her magical energies had also imbued her living and working spaces with invisible, powerful wards that prevented hostile intruders. She had simply assumed that _every_ witch and wizard could feel other magical people when in Muggle situations. She'd never stopped to ponder why those who had been following her hadn't simply apparated into her flat and grabbed her in the dead of night. It simply had never occurred to her that she was somehow gifted with innate power that kept the would-be attackers at bay. Since she had no point of comparison, being not in contact with any other adult witches or wizards and having not grown up in wizarding society, she simply felt that this was all a normal by-product of being an adult witch. It was no more complex than that in her limited experience.

Aberforth's final words to his brother, delivered via Howler, explained in detail what had occurred and how his intention was for Albus' lies of omission in the Hermione's trial all those years ago to finally come to light. Albus' life had not been the same since, as his quest for Aberforth's magic - and wish to silence Hermione Granger - had its genesis. He could not afford to allow Hermione to realize her new gift, or to realize the deceptions that had been wrought in her name.

~*~*~

Dolores Umbridge half-listened to the two men banter back and forth about "loyalty" and "honour" and other such nonsense, while she pondered the situation. Multiple attempts to Apparate into the girl's flat had been unsuccessful. Every time she tried to unlock the girl's door, she failed miserably. Her best bet was going to be to get her to willingly leave work for an unsecured location - a pub, perhaps - and pull her under the cloak and Apparate. The girl was so set in her travels - she walked directly to work from home and to home from work, rarely stopping for anything other than take-away dinners. It would be easy to pull her into an alley, but the girl possessed more dangerous magic than Umbridge was prepared to deal with unless she could come up with a complete element of surprise. Unfortunately, that didn't seem terribly likely, as the girl seemed to be quite aware of when someone was following her.

Suddenly, the answer snapped into Dolores' pea-sized brain. _Polyjuice_. So simple...oh, yes, this would do the trick nicely.

"Severus, Lucius, are you quite finished? I haven't heard anything of any interest to me in this entire conversation."

Both Severus and Lucius narrowed their eyes at the horrid little woman. "Why are you even here?" Severus asked, sounding bored.

Dolores turned and walked out without another word. She went to her private room in the Malfoy dungeon, to see what she could do about creating that new Quick Polyjuice potion that only took three days' brewing time. She had Severus Snape to thank for that innovation, and she'd certainly use it to its fullest extent now. As she began gathering ingredients, she thought over her plans for the little bane of her existence. She'd gotten herself in charge of this operation simply becuase she had a score to settle. Dolores Umbridge would _never_ let go how that little filthy girl managed to wreck all her grand plans to be in charge of Hogwarts. It had been her dream - all she had ever wanted was to be Headmistress of the school, and for a few shining moments it had all been in her grasp. She'd never be able to obtain the title while Dumbledore was there, of course - if he actually thought she planned on delivering Hermione to him, he was more delusional than she imagined. No, Dolores planned to do something very educational and fascinating - almost as fun as the quill that Harry Potter had been forced to use in detentions, but even more sinister and worthy of her subject. Dolores simply _couldn't wait_ to get her hands on Hermione, for so, so many reasons.

She wasn't going to begrudge Lucius, of course, his depraved pleasures with the girl. He could have her when Dolores was done. But by the time the girl ever managed to be seen by the Headmaster of Hogwarts, she'd be of no use to him. Or anyone, for that matter.

~*~*~

"I'll consider your offer, Severus," Lucius said. "That's the most I can do. My orders are simply to deliver her to Dumbledore. What state she's in at that time, well...he didn't specify. I'd have to have very good compensation not to deliver her..."

"You know I have within my resources quite a lot of compensation that would interest you. Find a way to avert this disaster, Lucius, or I assure you you'll be seeing the walls of Azkaban again very soon."

A slight shudder passed through the blond man's countenance at the thought of Azkaban, before he composed himself and said, "I believe at this point the stakes are high enough that you'd find yourself there with me."

Snape nodded. "I'm prepared for that eventuality, Lucius. The girl must be protected at all costs, now."

"I think you must care about her more than just on a professional level, my boy. I haven't seen you this mental about anything since Lily Evans..."

Severus blanched. "I don't even _know_ her, you great idiot. But there is much more at stake here than the woman, and you know it. And just for your information: if you plan to go to Dumbledore about my visit, be aware that I will happily neutralize you. It would be my pleasure."

Lucius nodded, knowing fully well that Severus could do just that, and knowing he could never explain the length and discussion topics of this visit to Dumbledore anyway. "You have my word."

Snape stared for several moments at his sometimes adversary and occasional ally, and abruptly turned and swept from the room towards the elf-guarded Apparation point on the first floor of the Manor.

~*~*~

Lucius had his own reasons for wanting the girl, all having to do with wanting to reward her in his own inimitable way for doing away with both his tiresome life as a Death Eater with that insane bastard Voldemort and getting rid of the extremely annoying brat Harry Potter. It was almost worth the time in Azkaban to be done with both banes of his existence. Hermione had been a bit of a fixation for him for years, especially because she annoyed his offspring so, but also for the aforementioned reasons. The girl would have been appalled beyond belief to think that she even crossed the thoughts of Lucius Malfoy, but she did. Now, his interest in her had increased tenfold becuase of Severus' obvious concern for her. He could easily kill several birds with one stone - taunting Severus Snape being the most rewarding of those - if he kept her here.

Narcissa had really been a lost cause for years, always preferring the company of female lovers. Lucius had tolerated it. He'd never really had a strong interest in his wife, anyway, other than to produce an heir and make certain the purity of the bloodline remained intact. What she chose to do sexually was none of his concern, until her current fixation on that abomination of a woman. Dolores was, in a word, disgusting. The thought of his wife and that woman together made him physically sick, which was a fairly difficult prospect considering some of the scenes he had participated in during Voldemort's infamous revels. Narcissa did not seem to realize how dangerous the woman was, besotted as she was by the woman's obvious prowess in the bedroom; once Lucius had been permitted to watch, and had to leave before he gagged - but the woman clearly had Narcissa under her talented thumbs. Normally Lucius _enjoyed_ watching his wife with a lover, but this one was unfathomably grotesque. Well. She had her uses in obtaining the Hermione-prize for him, and that's all that mattered.

Of course Granger was a Mudblood. He wasn't looking to produce offspring with her. He saw her as a very coveted object, made more so by the power he knew she had. He could easily make her want him; Lucius Malfoy had never had a problem with that. The erection that now was forming made him anxious enough to consider attempting to simply go after her and get her himself. He could buy her a drink...she would be fascinated that someone - anyone - from her past was speaking to her. Yes, he could do that. Pacing restlessly, he thought about how he could pull it off.

Of course. Draco.

~*~*~

Draco was a spy for the Ministry, officially. He watched certain wizards and witches who lived outside of the wizarding world for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, alerting them when he saw one perform magic illegally. One of the witches he was assigned to was Hermione, of course.

Draco was playing several ends against the middle with her, however. After Aberforth's death, several people approached him for information about her whereabouts. Albus Dumbledore was first. Severus Snape's inquiry followed shortly thereafter. Most surprisingly, Lucius Malfoy contacted Draco one afternoon, explaining that he'd been paroled and was interested in the whereabouts of one Hermione Granger.

"Father," Draco said, "I'm _so thrilled_ you're back!" He embraced his father, disgust showing on his face behind his back.

"Draco, I understand you are keeping tabs on Granger for the Ministry."

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. What's it to you?"

"I wish to contact her and thank her for getting rid of Potter, of course."

Draco smiled a thin smile. "You know, I'd consider doing that myself if I could. But no one is allowed to speak to her. You know the law."

"I don't care about the law."

"I'll let you know if I hear anything about her, Father. I don't have any news for you," Draco lied. "She's not one of my cases. I'm sorry."

Lucius knew his son was lying, but he let it rest. He knew that when push came to shove, Draco would come through. Blood would always thicker than the Ministry of Magic's rules and regulations.

After a terse conversation with the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and a rather lengthier conversation with his former Head of House, Draco independently formed loyalties where Granger was concerned. He'd always felt that there had been rather more to her story than just an Imperius curse, and that she had been treated quite unfairly by the Wizengamot. He had no particular love for the girl or her friends - never had - but had developed, over his years under Snape's tutelage, an innate sense of justice that was not inherent in a normal Malfoy's nature. Snape had become the real father over the years in school. He knew full well that he would help Severus Snape, and Snape only, in this effort - not just to protect Granger from harm, but because it was the right thing to do. His father would probably kill him if he understood that his son would probably be sorted into Gryffindor if the hat were placed on his head now; but what Lucius didn't understand now, he certainly didn't ever_ need_ to know.

The LiveJournal thing had happened quite by accident, but had given him an immense advantage in his surveillance of the subject. One night, he had accidentally become trapped in her office building during a lockdown - the IRA had been threatening to bomb a building in the area, and all the buildings were being searched. Draco had broken into an empty office on the floor above Granger's firm so he could create a nice magical window into the room where her desk was located, to keep an eye on her comings and goings. Since the building was in lockdown, he had spent some considerable time watching her work on her computer...and noticed she was absorbed in a website that was unfamiliar to him. Using a pair of Omniculars, he was able to determine that she was on a site called LiveJournal, and that her user name was BeWitched. After he got back to his own flat that night, he fired up his old computer and struggled mightily with his antiquated dialup British Telecom connection until he connected to the site. 

After six hours of cranky, slow surfing, he managed to convince himself of two things: One, he needed to become one of Hermione's anonymous "friends". Two, he needed a high-speed connection. Within a few days, he was on his way to becoming a part of her life. What's more, he found that he started to really enjoy the repartee and wit of many of her Internet friends and others he met on the site, and became a true and complete addict. Hermione tended toward introspection, but she was often very funny - as were her friends - and offered the unique perspective on Muggle life that he sorely lacked with his wizarding background.

Now he felt as if he couldn't live without the computer on a daily basis. He loved his connections, and he felt extremely protective of the woman he was assigned to observe. If he was a heterosexual, he'd already be married to the girl, for heaven's sake. But, he wasn't on that team, so he found ways to help and protect her from afar, while enjoying all the benefits of Muggle London as seen by the sides of several friendly and warm LiveJournalers he'd met through her. Severus Snape, the person that Draco Malfoy trusted the most, was his best hope to keep Hermione safe from those who were now seeking to potentially do her harm.

Perhaps he could do them both some good by his LiveJournal project with Bats50. After he had laughed out loud at the comment Snape had left in her journal, he had smiled for hours when he realized that she had added the stranger with the acid tongue to her friends list immediately. He wasn't sure why Dumbledore, his father, and Umbridge were so obsessively interested in Hermione, but he had a feeling Hermione was about to become quite interested in her former Potions Master - especially if QuIdiot had anything to do with it. 

~*~*~

Halfway down the block that separated her office building from her flat, she heard a voice. "Miss Granger?" 

She stopped, turning slowly. Henry the night janitor was behind her. "Henry? Why are you following me, man? Come walk with me. Have you eaten? Wait, aren't you supposed to be..."

"Hush, girl, and follow me." Henry beckoned her into the corner pub, scene of many-a-Hermione-less-LiveJournal drunk and the occasional ruined Saturday morning breakfast. The pub was crowded, but not insanely so, and the two co-workers found seats in the corner. "Henry, I thought you were supposed to be at work tonight."

"Night off," he said in a gruff voice. She looked carefully at him, and noticed he looked different tonight. Perhaps more tired than usual, and not smiling as broadly he usually did. "Is something wrong, Henry?" She reached out a hand to touch him, but he pulled away before she could, surprising her.

"I'm afraid there is, Hermione, and I want you to be prepared," Henry said in a low voice. "I know who you are, and I know the power you possess - even if you don't. It's time for you to hear everything I can tell you about what is happening, before someone manages to kill you - or worse."


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione sputtered, moving her chair back a fraction. Her fingers inched lower towards the holster under her skirt, but she wasn't sure if she was going for the phone or the wand. "Wha...Henry. What in the hell are you on about?"

"I'm being serious. How many hours have we spent together in that building late at night? How much do you really know about the old guy mopping your floor, and yet you've spent hours alone with no soul but mine in the building? You know _nothing_, really - but you came to this pub with me, trusting me and never once doubting my intentions towards you. Even though you _know_ you're being followed - yes, don't look so shocked. I know all about it. Sometimes I wonder about your reputation as the brightest bulb Hogwarts has seen in decades."

"How in the bloody hell do you know anything about me...damn you. You're following me? How do you know about...about Hogwarts?" Hermione was outraged, fascinated, and terrified, all at the same time. This man only occupying a corner of the shadows of her mundane existence, the everyman working joe who emptied her trash and sang little funny songs as he mopped outside in the office halls...was apparently a wizard? Something most certainly did _not _add up, and Hermione's healthy skepticism was kicking in fast.

"No, I'm not following you...not exactly. Calm down, calm down. I am not the one you need to be wary of, Hermione Granger. I'm on your side."

"I wasn't aware there was a bloody side to _be_ on! Henry. Make sense. Quickly, or I'm leaving." She stood up, hand now firmly grasping her new wand, and she was very much prepared to use it - the stray Muggles in the vicinity be damned.

"You can take your hand off the wand and lower your voice, young lady," Henry said patiently, in an almost amused tone. "First of all, it won't do a thing to me to try and curse me - and such behavior in a pub full of Muggles! Secondly, I'm the one that arranged for you to have the bloody thing in the first place. I thought you'd already have figured the rest out, but you've obviously had your head so deeply up your arse that I feel like it's time to spell it out to you. You are in danger. Bad people want to hurt you, to detain you and do bad things to you. You _must_ protect yourself and stop giving so much of yourself away. I can only do so much for you, Hermione. I can't stop real, live, dangerous people from maiming or killing you. I can only arm you with the truth. Will you listen?"

Hermione sat down again, jaw clenching shut, as she pondered Henry's words. Her hand never left the safety of the wand as they sat in silence, watching happy, laughing clutches of people walk by. Finally, she muttered, "Let's start with the obvious. Why are you following me? And why...oh, bloody hell. You're breaking the law, both wizarding and Muggle, and I'm not in a mood to get entangled in any intrigue tonight. Get away - if someone sees you..."

"Relax, please," Henry said. "I want to be very clear that you're in no danger from me. Let's just say I'm no longer a part of the wizarding world - I am in the same position you are, for very different reasons. I've been working as the night janitor for the firm to get close enough to you to know your business, and see what would happen. I'm just an observer in this unfolding drama, my dear, but I was right about my suspicions. I have many more things I need to tell you - everything I know about who you can trust, and who you cannot. For example, there is a spy at the office - I'm not sure of this person's loyalty. Please trust me. If you don't, Hermione, I understand, but there are things you _must_ know. Before it's too late."

Hermione's mind was reeling at the implications of just the surface of Henry's allegations, much less what could be bubbling under. "Look, Henry. I'm not entirely sure that I have a drop of drink at my flat, and I think I need a draught of Guinness. Maybe two. Do you mind? Can we make small talk and pretend like you didn't just drop a bombshell on me, and enjoy the people walking by? Maybe we can even get up and dance...they do karaoke on Mondays and Thursdays, I'm fairly sure..."

Henry looked around, a worried look crossing his wizened face for a moment. "There are only two truly safe places for you right now - this isn't one of them, even with me here. Keep your wand at the ready." Henry nodded to the barkeep, holding up a finger to indicate he wanted a pint brought to the lady. 

Hermione relaxed fractionally, and realized that she had pressing needs to attend to before she began to delve into whether Henry was delusional or actually had information that could help her. She certainly sensed no danger in the area, despite Henry's obvious unease. "I...excuse me for a moment? Nature calls, you know." 

"No." Henry said. "I cannot stress this enough – you're not safe. We really need to go."

"Yes, and I really need to go, too." She stood up, waiting for him to stop her. When he didn't, she left and headed for the loo.

By the time she returned to the table, she found a pint of Guinness - and no Henry. He was simply gone. She waited a few more moments before she realized she had been ditched. Moreover, it occurred to her that the old man had obviously been talking nonsense. She'd never felt even a speck of magical energy in his presence, which was a dead giveaway these days. She had been duped by a delusional, but probably harmless, old man. At best, Henry must be a Squib - he'd heard of Hogwarts and blathered something about her wand, so he wasn't ignorant of the magical world. However, something was obviously amiss with the man if he would drop a bombshell about danger and spies and intrigue and unsafe pubs, and then just _leave_ her with her thoughts and the bill. 

One thing was for damned sure. He was spying on her, and that wouldn't do. At all. She'd have a long talk with Karen in the morning about this strange incident. She knew it would give her supervisor unwanted ammunition to attempt to kick her out of the office at a decent hour in the evenings, but that was _fine and dandy_ if this old delusional Squib was going to be watching her every night

Fury at the absurdity of the entire situation threatened to overwhelm her, especially deep into her glass of the fine pub stout. How dare that old fuck scare the living daylights out of her and then walk off? Gathering her things and throwing a few pounds on the table, she headed towards the door. On the way towards the exit, she brushed past a man that made all her alarm bells go off - the magical aura the stranger possessed was strong, and also resonated a certain familiarity. A sharp, nauseating fear hit the pit of her belly as she turned to see the man's face as she passed, but she had missed her opportunity to catch him because of his brisk walk past, as if he were in search of another person. She saw the back of his bandana-covered head, and his attractive body in tight jeans and American cowboy boots, but he vanished into the darkness of the back room of the pub quickly. Dare she follow him? 

_Hell no. The guy is obviously a wizard, and they hate you, remember, girl? Get a grip, and get on home. Just get away from this godforsaken place and head to the only place you are truly safe - the loneliness of your hollow construction project on the Internet, your cold empty bed and those bottles of merlot you have stashed for emergencies. Just go._

She turned abruptly back towards the door to leave, crashing straight into a very tall man walking into the pub. "Sorry," she mumbled, looking at the floor and trying to get around the man as fast as she could - she could feel that it was another very powerful wizard. She didn't want to see the disappointment and disgust on yet another person's face tonight - or ever again, for that matter. She was tired of being Hermione Granger right now and wanted this whole stupid nightmare to move along out of her life and terrorize someone more worthy, not a simple designer of no consequence for a tiny web shop in Nowhere, London, UK.

"Allow me," said a hauntingly familiar voice. The man held the door for her. "Miss Granger." She gasped when she realized who this wizard in front of her actually was.

Lucius Malfoy, looking at her with surprised eyes that were alight with barely-suppressed mirth, made a grand gesture that she should feel free to depart. She fled into the night; she was unwilling to exchange pleasantries with a man who had killed her friends, and was frankly panicked to find out that he was free. Hermione found the nearest niche in between buildings and grabbed her wand. "I was told to use this in dire emergencies. Well, bugger me, if this isn't one..." She Apparated directly to her building, running up the stairs and into the flat in record time. Panting as she closed the door, she smirked once to herself. _I'm getting some exercise running up those bloody stairs._

She couldn't at all be sure who - or what - Henry would turn out to be, or which oddly familiar wizard Boots and Jeans might have been. However, anyone meeting Lucius Malfoy couldn't possibly be good news, and it was clear that a prearranged meeting must be the case given the thoroughly Muggle location. Lucius had been dressed as a Muggle, but had an odd assortment of out-of-style clothing on. It would have been highly amusing if not for the fact that the_ butcher of the War was somehow out on parole_. It didn't make sense - Lucius should have been Dementor-fodder in Azkaban for his entire life, not sauntering casually into her neighborhood pub. On her block. It could _not_ be a coincidence.

Perhaps this is what Henry was trying to tell her. Maybe, after all, he wasn't just a weirdo that was trying to make her life more complex than it already was.

~*~*~*~

Draco's cell phone rang just as he spotted his father. He looked at the caller ID, and groaned. He knew he couldn't answer.

~*~*~*~

Miles to the north, a frustrated wizard cursed being at the mercy of a young, brash, arrogant wizard who had a job that was beyond his capabilities. It was time to take the Granger matter into his own hands. While he currently trusted Draco more than anyone he was in contact with, and his intelligence on various subjects had always been good, he knew that Draco had some other agenda to which Severus was not privy. It obviously didn't have to do with sex as he could nearly _bet_ Lucius' motives included, but something was definitely curious in Draco's demeanor. He was fixated on her every move, and had insinuated himself into her life much more than a good spy ever should.

He'd meant to ask Draco for some truth-telling tonight, but the damn fool wasn't answering his phone. Impatiently, he checked his computer to see if she had perhaps written another of her entries, and worried about Dumbledore lurking only a few floors above. Snape counted on Albus being too self-absorbed to notice Draco's handiwork among the clever disguises they had contrived; but back in the day, very little had escaped his master's notice. He wondered how long this borrowed time would last.

He couldn't wait any longer. It was, perhaps, time to go to Hermione and explain it all rather than sit here, be frustrated, and wait for events to unfold. He paced the room, pausing every few minutes to check again and see if she had posted, slamming his fist into the table after the fourth fruitless effort.

*~*~*~*

Now that she was inside her apartment, Hermione felt a strange sense of calm come over her. She had always felt fairly safe in her tiny flat as long as the door was locked, though she certainly had no reason to feel that way given the fact that there were magical adversaries involved in her life who could blast that door open without effort. Putting her fingers to her temples, she rubbed for a few minutes and then decided on a hot bath and that last Guinness she knew she had tucked in the produce bin of the icebox- no need to crack open a bottle of wine after the pint of Guinness Henry had stuck her with at the pub, unless she wanted to spend the night vomiting it all up.

First things first, though - guilty diversions to take her mind off the bizarre scene at the pub. What was going on with her LiveJournal friends today? Yes, that's right...a little surfing, some email, and a check-in with her tried and true buddies. Maybe her new friend, that Bat person, would have posted something snarky in his journal that she could rip apart mercilessly. That would feel very nice, indeed. It had been so long since she'd gotten to confront a troll...quite literally. She opened her backpack and retrieved the PowerBook, flipping it on and loading her email and LiveJournal clients while she poured the Guinness into a glass and started the bathwater. What would she say about _her_ day? It would certainly need some creative editing, but maybe her friends could give her some advice if she phrased it blandly and obliquely enough.

_Hi guys, my nightly check-in._

_I actually went to our pub tonight - you know, the one you guys always tease me about not coming to when you're all there. I had a date. No, really. Well, okay, not really. It was very strange and I don't know what to make of it - the guy who cleans my office tells me that someone's stalking me. See, it's not just me being paranoid. Unfortunately, I think the janitor must be the stalker. Who the hell knows why these things happen - I mean, why can't I find some nice older, wiser, hot Pierce Brosnan-looking guy and settle down? Holy hell on a platter, I'd take Patrick Stewart too. Alan Rickman?_

_Oh yeah, they're all taken. Oh well. _

_Which reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you all about good (but not terribly expensive) vacations. I need to get away from it all - no offense to you guys, but I need to be cut off from my entire life for a week. It's long overdue. Any hints? Oh, yes, if there are actual single men in any of these places, that's good too._

_I solemnly refuse to whine about anything in my life, even having utterly odd coincidences (meeting up once again with someone from my old life, who was in jail until recently. Long story, which I am not sure of entirely, so I'll leave it at that.) No whining. Just beer. Peace and love, friends - _

_Mood: quixotic  
Music: Duh. You all know I'm on a Duran Duran kick. Don't say a prayer for me now, save it till the morning after._

~*~*~

"Father."

"Draco, my son. You're looking very, very well. Did you see Miss Granger?" Lucius asked nonchalantly, looking down at his fingernails as if running into both his son and his prey at the very same time was an occurence that happened daily.

Draco was well-trained. He knew exactly how to look when he was confronted with issues that might compromise a subject's security, or otherwise bring about emotion. "Granger?" he looked at his father blankly.

"Don't play ignorant, boy. It doesn't suit you. I know what you said before. It's rubbish," the elder Malfoy said coldly, before bursting out in a laugh. "Buy me a drink. It's not every day your old man walks so free in the streets of London...and by the way, go visit your mother."

"I know why you're here. You're wrong, you know. About me. You think you'll get something for nothing, and I assure you, it's not possible."

"Your point?"

"It's my business to know these things."

Lucius rolled his eyes, affecting a dramatic sigh. "You're still a child, and I tire of your games. Let's get to business, shall we? You have debts to me. It's time to repay them. Now. And with a certain amount of interest..."

Draco went completely white and had no snarky rejoinder, for the first time in years, and contemplated whether even death would free him from what his father was certainly planning to ask him to do. He had known, deep down, that Lucius would call his bluff, and had been prepared to follow through with whatever would be necessary – no matter what the personal or professional cost. It was not for anyone else to understand. Not even Professor Snape could hear this part of the tale. Malfoy loyalties and debts were tricky indeed to sort through, and as much as Draco had thought through this before the meeting tonight, he could not find a way around his father's iron-clad words. 

~*~*~

Ready for bed and with a towel wrapped around her head, she checked her email. Bats50 had responded to her entry, and she felt a spark of excitement at the idea of the verbal sparring that could follow any snarky comments the Bat had thrown her way. As she began to open the mail, she heard a scraping at her door. She went and looked through the peephole with apprehension. It was Henry. Just what she needed, of course. Was it too much to ask that she spend _one_ night as an ordinary Muggle these days?

"Go home, Henry. I'm asleep," she said through the door, irritated at the distraction from her computer.

"Can I come in?"

"If you can come through a locked door."

"Did you just give me your permission to come in through your door?"

"As long as it's triple locked, as it is, be my guest. Knock yourself out." She turned to return to her laptop, anxious to read Bats50's latest sarcasm so she could blind him with her wit and charm, the obnoxious goat.

Suddenly, Henry stood in the room, causing her to stumble backwards and catch herself on her desk chair. Henry held up his hands to show her they were empty. "I didn't get a chance before I saw the Malfoy brat approaching to warn you, and I can't let him see me. I had to leave before telling you the rest, but I've been behind you every step of the way tonight. I've been out here on your doorstep for well over an hour, debating whether or not to bother you tonight or leave you alone."

"I would have preferred 'left alone', thanks."

Henry ignored her. "I'm...well...there's no point in being coy now: I'm a spirit. I've departed, but I'm still here, and apparently I'm haunting you. And, er, speaking of spirits...do you have anything to drink?"

Hermione methodically stepped back behind her kitchen bar as if in in a trance, automatically uncorking a Merlot and filling two glasses. "You can drink?" Hermione said. "I thought ghosts..." her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You don't look the least bit like any spirit I've ever met."

Henry shrugged. "Hermione, believe me when I tell you that I am more alive now than I was my entire flesh-and-blood existence. No, I don't normally drink. The drink's for you - you'll need it." She was flat-out distrustful of anyone who changed identities on her - much less those who claimed to be ghosts that had no problems pushing brooms in office buildings, and could simply appear in her flat without so much as a flick of the wrist. Something didn't add up, but she couldn't articulate it just yet.

Curiosity at his dire warnings radiated through her brain. What if he wasn't crazy - what if he had real, necessary truths for her? She knew that she had been feeling overconfident at not having been attacked again, and had somehow convinced herself it was an isolated incident. She still had no concept of what the actual mayhem had been about in the first place, or why she had been spared - and by which hand. Had it been Henry? No, the voice wasn't as familiar as his was to her after nearly a year of knowing him, though at the time it had tickled long-buried memories. If Henry was dangerous, why hadn't he attacked her on any of the multiple occasions that they had been alone in the office? He had mentioned the office and her flat as being safe places - why was that? 

Come to think of it, any magical attacker worth his or her wand would have simply broken in to one or the other and taken her - Henry did seem to have a point about the vulnerablity of her usual route home, but the safe zones didn't make much sense. And he certainly had no problem getting into her door.

"Circe, Fridwulfa, and Merlin, girl! I'm trying to save your arse and you're sipping and staring off into space. Give it here," Henry said, grabbing the untouched second glass she had poured and tossing it back in one gulp.

"I thought you said ghosts couldn't drink."

"I said that I didn't drink, I never said I _couldn't_. Let me introduce myself properly, my girl. I am Aberforth Henry Dumbledore, at your service."  


  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
A/N: Grateful sloppy kisses and hugs go out to Kalina, Pigwidgeon37, and OzRatBag2 for taking a beta gander at this chapter and helping me beat it into submission. You guys are so awesome. 


	6. Chapter 6

Several things happened in rapid succession, none of which were particularly expected or welcome.

First, Hermione sat down rather abruptly, and waved for her ghostly companion to take the seat opposite hers. She was completely unaware of the circumstances surrounding the death of Albus' only brother, but was certainly flummoxed at this turn of events. She knew he would explain, and she would force her razor-thin patience to allow it to come to completion, because so little of this craziness made the least bit of sense.

As Henry...Aberforth...opened his mouth to begin his tale, there was a quick knock at the door.

"Don't answer it," Aberforth whispered. "Listen to me. They can wait."

Hermione looked stricken, as a second rap came, more insistent than the last. "Let me at least look, Henry. It can't do any harm..."

Aberforth shook his head and cut her off abruptly. "No one is as they seem. Don't you get it? They hide, sometimes under cloaks, sometimes in plain sight. _You can't trust anyone!_"

"You sound like someone else I used to know, Henry," she said with a sad smile. "_Constant vigilance!_ Do you think I even trust you, at this point? I think you're crazy, just like they used to say about you when your name would come up in conversation in the Grimmauld Place days. I know about the goat thing."

Aberforth barely suppressed a smile on both the realization that she knew about his checkered past, and that she did a fine deadpan delivery of Alastor Moody.

The knock came a third time, this time loudly enough to wake the neighbors. "Let me see who it is," Aberforth said, watching her carefully. She nodded, and he walked over and peered out the peephole.

"Can't you just fly out, or something?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"There's more to this than meets the eye, my girl," he said, turning around. "As you might have surmised about the whole situation. Severus Snape stands outside your door."

"Well, you're the one who claims to be all-knowing. Do I let him in?"

"He is the only person that I know you can trust."

"What about you?"

"I'm a ghost, not a person," he said with a wicked smile. "So?"

She threw up her hands. "Suddenly I don't feel like I'm calling the shots in my own life." Aberforth opened the door. She expected Severus to at least express surprise upon seeing the ghost there. Snape's expression didn't change, except for one raised eyebrow.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Dumbledore. Good evening."

Hermione crossed her arms, and looked from one to the other, unable to speak. She had no idea what to expect next in the unfolding drama, though for a fleeting moment she wished that Aberforth had been able to tell her more before Snape showed up on her doorstep. _This day started off so normally. Now it's a runaway train, and I cannot look away or move for fear I'll fall off the tracks._

"Aberforth, I have to say, I had no expectation of your presence tonight," Snape continued, "but you are no longer required at this meeting. Go."

Aberforth narrowed his eyes. "Remember, Severus Snape. _She_ did not allow you in. I did."

For a moment, Snape betrayed a look of confusion. "What does it matter? I need to speak with her, alone. In private. Good evening."

Hermione's most inner child screamed, "No! Don't leave me, Henry!" The more rational mind remembered Snape in the Quidditch picture - the one that looked upon her without disapproval, if not with warmth. This person in front of her was clearly five years older than she remembered, but his demeanor was that of the picture she had been studying. She couldn't understand Henry's frustration, or articulate her own hesitation, but something told her that her instincts might not be as dulled by the passage of time as she'd thought.

None of which addressed the fundamental question of whom she should trust.

"Look, Professor Snape," she said in a smaller voice than she'd intended, "Henry is a ghost. He's breaking no laws by being here. You are, and not only are you endangering yourself, you're endangering me. The terms of my parole are that if I am caught in the company of a Magical person, I will be sent to Azkaban. You know the law."

"You won't go to Azkaban. Of that, I can be completely certain. I won't repeat this again, Aberforth. Get out."

Aberforth turned to Hermione, who shook her head. "Hermione," Aberforth said, "unlike a poltergeist, I am bound to obey the commands of fully-qualified wizards and witches. That is a part of being in the spirit world - much like the servitude of a house-elf, I suppose. But I want you to remember one thing before I have to go. _You did not invite him in here._" With that odd cautionary statement - not that she should expect anything but odd from her ghostly office cleaner, of course - he vanished.

"Alone at last, Miss Granger," Snape said. "I have waited for this moment - for seven long years, I have waited for this."

"Seven years? Not five? Let me guess," Hermione said, "you aren't what you seem, either. Funny how Henry has a knack for stating the obvious."

Snape ignored her taunt. "I have a message for you. Albus Dumbledore wants you brought to him - alive, of course. He did not specify that he wants you whole or unharmed, only alive, however." Snape drew his wand and pointed it at her, startling her. The edge of voice sent chills down Hermione's spine, but she managed to maintain her outward composure. "Filthy, dirty Muggle girl. I have waited for my revenge..."

"Yeah, yeah. So you're an evil bad guy, but I'm willing to bet that you aren't Professor Snape." She tried to stall, hoping to think of a way to divert Snape's attention so she could get to her wand. _Think, Hermione! You used to be good at thinking in deteriorating situations, remember? You were the brains of the operation._

"You'll never know, will you?" Snape began to swish and flick, uttering the words that would bind her for travel to - who knew where, but it certainly wasn't looking good.

Something in Henry's parting words suddenly clicked in Hermione's alcohol and exhaustion-addled brain. _You never invited him in._ Without knowing exactly why the instinctual move occurred, she held up both hands in front of her face as the curse shot out of the faux-Snape's wand. In the next moment, he was the victim of _Petrificus Totalus_. The person impersonating Snape lay on her floor, conscious but certainly not moving.

"Henry!" she said loudly to the air around her, "what do I do next?"

~*~*~*~

Half a country away - but not so far at all through the broadband world that connects us all - a man in dark green and silver teaching robes stopped pacing, his mouth set with both decision and remorse. He crumpled the parchment he had just received and tossed it into the fire, making sure it had burned to ashes before turning around with grim determination. Gathering his wand and a cloak with quiet haste, he exited through a little-known door from the Hogwarts dungeons into the night. 

She had been online - had posted an entry, and he had responded within five minutes. He was willing to wager she would - should - have written right back to his tantalizingly nasty taunt, judging from the behavior she exhibited normally with her LiveJournal friends. Sometimes they all talked far into the night, about things that were both inconsequential and highly meaningful. He had felt somewhat like a voyeur reading through the snippets of her life - and Draco's. It was like being present for the emergence of the woman that the schoolgirl he'd known had become. Severus had found himself understanding all-too-well what Draco's attraction (obsession?) with LiveJournal was, and empathized with his interest in this particular girl's vulnerabilities and wit and crushing loneliness. She was a woman of contradictions - simplicity and complexity, brightness and pain that had been created through no real fault of her own. Now the chickens were coming home to roost. He certainly knew that he could not wait any longer. It was time to break yet another law in a long life of crime and punishment, but little justice.

~*~*~*~

The air of Hermione's living area held no answers for her. Henry was obviously a spirit of integrity, because she could wager that he would give anything to be with her right now. A wizard had banished him and so he had gone - her tired brain _now_ recalled that section of _Hogwarts, A History _that spoke to the fact that only teachers could trump the ghosts, but only ghosts could keep Peeves in line. The greater mystery now: who - or what - was on her living room rug. It just could not be Professor Severus Snape. She was really staking her hunch on a Wizard photo and a few recollections of acts that had been performed in the service of Dumbledore and the Order, but...

Dumbledore. Another question begging an answer. What did the Headmaster of Hogwarts want with her? It seemed rather comforting that her Wizarding schoolmaster wanted to see her, but once again - she could not understand it, given the unjust circumstances under which they parted. Firstly, speaking to her was forbidden - even Albus Dumbledore couldn't get around that one. Secondly, even if it wasn't - why send whatever strange henchman was lying in her living room?

Before she could get to "thirdly", there was yet another knock on the door. 

_Let's see_, she thought tiredly, _I have a ghost waxing my floors, a wizard petrified on my hearthrug, and a knock at the door at midnight. Why do I suddenly feel like I'm thirteen again?_

She crossed to the door to look through her increasingly-useful peephole - the one she used to laugh to her LiveJournal friends about because it was only used for Chinese delivery men. _One day they'll insist you dance for a tip_, she could hear QuIdiot's imaginary voice say. _Spare us your "lonely in London" speech. If you're alone in the middle of that city, it's most certainly your own fault_, she could hear her new Batty friend say. She put her forehead against the door, rather than chance a look through the glass.

Bats50. His undoubtedly ill-tempered reply went unread, unresponded to. Even though she'd only met him the day before, it made her unaccountably sad that she had not read his answer to her post. She suddenly found herself weeping aloud, with the emotional abandon of one who had just realized how alone - how truly alone, and afraid - she really was in this world. Perhaps, she thought, Dumbledore was going to fix everything. Yes, that was it - he must know of her predicament. This need to be complete, the magic now swelling within her, begging for release. The friends still left behind alive, the persons who would not look at her when she ached for their eyes as she stared at her pictures.

The knock came again, softly. Obviously, the person outside had heard her wails. Perhaps it was Henry? What difference did it really make, anyway?

She took another look at the shocked face of the person on her floor. It was still Severus Snape, the one she had wanted to believe in - the one Henry said she could believe in. She took out her wand, and considered casting another _Petrificus_ just for good measure. She couldn't do it. She had expended all the latent energy she had, and now indecisiveness and fear were choking her.

"Hermione," a familiar voice called out. She stood up straighter, still wracked with sobs, nearly oblivious to her name being called. The running-joke-of-a-peephole had been forgotten in her self-pity. She could feel the magic calling her on the other side; this should have meant extreme caution, but Hermione had simply exhausted her ability to care in the passion of the act of self-defense and the realization of her precarious predicament.

"Open this bloody door!" The longing child within her responded to the authority of this voice as it always had, with unquestioning obedience; she flung open the door. "How dare you...how dare you..." Hermione cried out as she lost her composure upon seeing his face. _This_ was the man she was waiting for, the one who had always protected her as a child even as he hurt her with his words. This was the Professor Snape from the photograph. Henry's voice whispered again in her ear, _He's the only person that I know you can trust_.

"It took you long enough to answer the door," Severus said his haughtiest of professorial voices, looking past her to his doppleganger Petrified on the floor before letting his eyes fall on the disheveled wreck of a woman in front of him.

Fear turned into rage in a split second. Without warning, she launched herself at him with her fists out, pummelling him until she was overcome with emotion. He grabbed her hands to prevent more bodily injury to either one of them, and suddenly found her in his arms.

"It's okay," he whispered, stroking her hair as her tears fell, "it's going to be all right now." He closed his eyes, hesitating briefly at this act of treason, before enfolding her in his cloak.

~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: Thanks to pigwidgeon37, kalinalea, and ozratbag2 for their invaluable assistance with this chapter! Thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed. And yes, *author cackles*, more to come soon...the next moment in time should prove to be quite...surprising...for both of them. *winks* 


	7. Chapter 7

"Severus, a word?" Albus Dumbledore was quickly growing impatient with his inability to find his Potions Master. Severus was always - always - supposed to tell him before he left the castle. Suddenly he wasn't answering his Floo. A quick look at Dumbledore's own, cobbled-together imitation of the rather clever Marauder's Map Harry had once loaned him, revealed that the subject of his inquiry was not in the immediate vicinity of Hogwarts Castle. Quickly, he dispatched Fawkes with a note for the tavern keeper in Hogsmeade to inquire after his Potions Master.

Albus then waited with a huffy impatience, contemplating the maddening problem of a potentially renegade Severus Snape. He knew that he'd have his power back from Hermione soon. Normally there would be no sense in rushing things, or involving himself unnecessarily. If he went to her, she would most likely give him freely what he required of her. She had no use for it. But he could not be involved in breaking the law where she was concerned; things were delicate enough as it was regarding his position. He'd always been able to get others to do his dirty work for him, and while conscience sometimes could be an issue - it was for his use of Harry Potter, whom Albus had come to care about very much - conscience would never be an issue for employing Malfoy. 

Snape had been a trusted servant of his own free will. Why wouldn't he be? Albus could still snap his fingers and get Snape committed to Azkaban for atrocities performed, ironically, in the name of being a spy for the Order. That knowledge, and the awareness that Albus might cease to protect him at any moment, had always been enough to keep him in line. But that was Severus' choice, his alone, and Albus would not accept responsibility for it.

Malfoy would come up with her in time. Granger was a problem, had always been too smart for her own good, and his foolish brother hadn't made things easier. She had been so nicely tucked out of the way until Aberforth fucked it all to hell. Oh, why, why? Why had he had to be selfish and take away Albus' power? Didn't the old goat (he thought fondly) understand it would kill him to absorb that much power?

Albus had adored and cherished his brother, once upon a time. His brother had been useful, by virtue of having been born. The eldest son got the family spoils. That was the way of the wizarding family, although the Dumbledores certainly had been unorthodox in the choice of how the youngest would lend assistance to the eldest in preserving the family name and legacy. Albus had only used the gift their father had given him for good. He had defeated evil with the powers he had. Even Aberforth had to concede the wisdom of their father's choice in the fight against Grindelwald, and later Voldemort. Aberforth should have realized that he was the true hero because of their father's choice and his sacrifice. Why didn't he see that? 

Dumbledore's tiny remnant of rational mind feebly attempted to remind him that there wasn't exactly evil lurking around every corner anymore. Unfortunately, his sane self had mostly taken leave when Aberforth died. That was the unfortunate part of growing old; one's ability to adapt and deal with changes in life became more and more difficult when one was well into the second century of life. It was an excuse, anyway. Still, the old man could feel his grip on the political power and wisdom of elder statesmanship slipping out of his grasp. It was premature. He still had so much to do. Far too much, really, for a young witch-in-exile and the foolishness of his brother to stand in the way for long.

Hermione wasn't the main problem. At this point, she was an insignificant Muggle who had no concept of the power she'd been granted. Severus Snape, indeed, was the real difficulty now. The return of Fawkes from Hogsmeade with a note from the ever-resourceful Madam Rosmerta, as expected, noted that Severus had not been seen in the town that night. The Map had confirmed his absence from the grounds. Thus, Albus was forced to conclude that Severus had disobeyed his direct orders and headed for London again.

He'd have to get in touch with Draco Malfoy. He would know if Severus had broken his word. Yes, he must get in touch with Draco. At the very least, as highly placed in the Ministry as Draco was, he might know who the Arbiter of London was. If it was possible to bribe the Arbiter, then Albus could approach Hermione and do whatever magic was necessary to get back what was rightfully his. He pulled out a quill and parchment, and began to write a note. At that very moment, he heard the stone gargoyle that guarded his office move away from the door to allow access to the stairs. He stood and waited to see who had gained entrance. Not very many were aware of the new set of passwords he had installed.

"Headmaster," said Draco Malfoy, to the side of his father when they entered the room. "It appears we have a minor problem."

"Minor...?" he queried, looking at Lucius. He had not expected to see the two of them together, especially as he had always kept his dealings with both of them well separated.

"It's that lunatic Snape again," Lucius said. "He's apparently been captured in London, according to my son."

"Captured?" Dumbledore said, not understanding at first. "By whom?"

"Hermione Granger," said a still out-of-breath Draco, cursing his father for dragging him here and forcing him to prove his loyalty. "We thought we'd come here to show you." Draco produced a crystal ball from his robes. 

"That...is what you are using for surveillance?" Lucius said, breaking into a laugh. "And the Ministry thinks you are so magnificent? A common crystal ball. What, did you nick it off that lunatic Trelawney?"

"Hush, Father, and learn something," Draco said, waving his wand. The image in the ball faded into a foggy scene of Snape lying on the floor. "I have a regular Muggle 'bug' - it's a recording device that Muggle law enforcement uses to track criminal activity - on her flat, so what goes on in her living area is broadcast wirelessly to this modified crystal ball. Usually, to be honest, she's quite boring. But after my father was finished distracting me from work earlier at the pub and I'd gone outside for a cigarette break, I checked it and saw Snape in her chambers."

"Interesting! Draco! Are you the Arbiter of London?" Albus clapped, smiling feverishly, as Draco nodded once in uneasy assent to the question. "Muggle technology. Very intelligent, young Malfoy. Now, did you see why he was on the floor?" Albus leaned over rather hopefully and attempted to will more information to come out of the ball. If Granger had dispensed with Snape using her magic, so much the better. Saved him from the bloody mess, and she'd find herself in Azkaban very soon - and Snape would too, he wasn't as dead as he seemed lying there on her floor. The Ministry would see to that, once Draco, whose now-revealed official Ministry capacity was Arbiter for Improper Use of Magic for London, had confirmed the illegal use of magic that they surely had detected. Yes, this was working out much better than he'd hoped. If she were incarcerated in Azkaban, no one of significance would know that he had come to retrieve Aberforth's gift, and no one would help her there. 

"No. I missed that part. My father thought you should know. I need to go make my report to the Ministry now, by your leave?" He looked at his father and Headmaster Dumbledore. They both nodded absently, apparently lost in their individual thoughts. The heels of Draco's dragon-skin boots clicked on the polished marble floor as he exited. As soon as he was a safe distance from the castle and running down towards Hogsmeade, he flipped open his cell phone and dialed Snape.

Back in Dumbledore's office, Lucius had finally made a polite exit, mumbling something about seeing if Narcissa had finally killed Umbridge yet. Albus called for a house-elf as soon as the elder Malfoy left. "I'll need a travel bag made up. I'm going to London to see about the death of Severus Snape." He looked down at the bewildered elf. "If it hasn't happened already, little friend, it soon will."

~*~*~*~

On the stoop of a London flat, a cell phone began to ring in a man's pocket. A man and a woman, locked in an unlikely embrace, sprung apart. She eyed the man very suspiciously as he sighed and ignored the ringer.

"Miss Granger, I..."

"I don't want to know why a cellular phone is ringing in your pocket. Wizards don't carry Muggle gadgetry. I...just want you to leave." Her tear-stained face nearly undid him as his eyes briefly touched hers, but he steeled himself, as he knew he must as she whimpered softly, "I'm sorry I sniffled on you, but I assure you, it won't happen again."

"I need to enter your place, Miss Granger. I am here to take away that...person...on your rug."

"I made a mistake earlier by letting that person in. I cannot trust you. You say you're Professor Snape, but you have a cell phone. Seems a bit off to me." She seemed to be gathering herself, Severus noted.

"You'll deal with it yourself? I thought you had more sense than this."

"I don't have to take orders from you anymore," she said coldly. "I'm a Muggle, remember? I wish to remain alone and be completely unconnected with your world. As it is, I can't imagine why the Ministry hasn't apprehended me for using magic in my flat. I don't want to lose this life for whatever these games you're playing are. Just go."

Snape thought of Draco, and hoped that he would handle Mafalda Hopkirk's owl as smoothly as he'd deflected the one that had come to him for verification after the first incident outside Hermione's flat. Azkaban would be the worst place for her right now. He knew she'd be completely at Dumbledore's mercy there, but as long as she was here, she had some protection from him. "Let me deal with...whoever that is on your rug, Miss Granger. Polyjuice, I'm certain of it."

"Henry...Aberforth...said something earlier. Since I didn't allow that...whoever it is...in, I was able to stop it from hurting me." Snape was reminded of the way this girl's mind had worked in his class. The wheels were turning, and Snape wasn't entirely sure what was safe to tell her.

"Yes," Snape said slowly. "It's Aberforth's story to tell. I just want to keep you...from harm."

"Harm?" her eyes narrowed. "Why, suddenly, is there so much interest in me? I saw Lucius Malfoy earlier this evening; Henry the old cleaning fellow tells me he's the ghost of Headmaster Dumbledore's brother; then someone who looks and sounds just like Professor Snape turns up and tries to kill me. Before I know it, another person claiming to be Professor Snape shows up, and is kind to me, which is entirely out of character. Magical people are following me, they are attacking me, and they won't take a hint and leave me the hell alone. Why should I believe any of you freakish hypocrites that had me thrown out for a crime that I was only marginally responsible for?" She had worked up quite a head of steam. Snape realized, uncomfortably, that it suited her very well to summon up that much anger. She'd changed quite a bit in the years since she had been his student. She looked tired and drawn, and unreasonably thin as if she hadn't taken care of herself very well, but wasn't completely unattractive. He forced himself to think of the here and now and leave time for ruminations about seeing her like this later.

"You shouldn't," Snape said simply, "but you definitely don't want to have that _woman_ on your floor."

Hermione wheeled around to see that the Polyjuice was wearing off of the faux Snape, who now resembled Dolores Umbridge. She shuddered at the sight and the memory of the horrible woman.

"I don't want to risk any more magic in your flat," Snape said. "We can only hold off the Ministry so long before they decide to overrule the Arbiter that makes the decision on whether or not Enforcers will be dispatched here. Right now I assume the Arbiter is holding them off, or they'd be here already. Shove her over here, and I will remove her and myself from your life. I can't promise you a life of happy blissful Muggledom, though. I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that this isn't over."

"I guess not," Hermione said, deflating a little at trying to defend her life which was far from happy and blissful, "I still have no idea why the sudden interest."

"Aberforth is the one you should talk to. I have better things to do with my time, I assure you, Miss Granger." She could hear his attempt at a cutting remark, but it seemed rather insincere after his unexpected embrace.

Hermione went over to the still form of Dolores Umbridge, and began to pull her towards the door. She was so heavy that Hermione could barely budge her. She was torn - if she let Snape in, she would be breaking some kind of spell that Henry had alluded to in his last cryptic remark. But it did seem like this was the real Snape, and that he wasn't interested in doing her any harm. If he was, he could have done so easily in her moment of weakness when she stood outside the door. Instead, he had held her as she sobbed. It made no sense, of course. The real Professor Snape would never have done something so kind. He would have belittled her and called her a few choice names as he mocked her inability to move the body.

Finally, exhaustion won out over self-preservation. "You want her? Come and get her."

Snape entered and helped Hermione drag Umbridge to the outside of the flat. "What are you going to do now?" she asked.

"Do you have any tea?"

She looked at him, dumbfounded.

"Tea. You know. Hot water, small leaves of a..."

"Oh, do shut up," she snapped, her temerity surprising him. His lip curled as he tried not to bite her head off; she hadn't exactly had a normal day, after all. "Come back in."

She busied herself in her small kitchen with the tea while he picked up Umbridge's wand, casting another Binding Charm. Her condition couldn't be traced to him, which might be advantageous. Pocketing her wand, he waited for Hermione to come back. She appeared a few moments later, bearing a cup, looking a bit sheepish. "Sugar?"

"Sit," he commanded. She obeyed immediately, as if he would suddenly tak off points from Gryffindor if she failed to comply. "Do you trust me?" he said in a low, odd tone.

She was confused. "About what?"

"Miss Granger-" he began, his voice now almost dangerous. "Do you trust me to do what is right in this...unfortunate...situation?"

His photograph flashed into her mind, followed closely by the unnerving brush with Lucius Malfoy in the pub. "Do I have a choice?"

He closed his eyes, leaning back against her worn, but comfortable sofa cushions. "You always have a choice, Miss Granger. Especially in your own home."

"Let me ask you a question, then," she said. "Why are you here?"

"I can't answer that."

"Then how can you presume to ask if I trust you, Professor Snape?"

She had a point. "I can't. Miss Granger, it would be best if you don't remember that I have been here."

A sudden tear came to her eye with quick understanding of his meaning. "You want to _Obliviate_ this night...everything?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"And what? And I don't remember...what? You? Her? Aberforth?"

"Me. Umbridge. Aberforth. Yes. I will tell him what happened, and he can do as he sees fit. But I...it's dangerous, Miss Granger, I am not here. I cannot be here."

"For your sake or mine?" She knew she was being impertinent again, but she really didn't care. Why was he asking permission? As far as he knew, she was unarmed and she was unprotected now that she'd invited him in. She still had her hidden wand, but the fact that he was _asking_ rather than simply _Obliviating_ her and being done with it made her pause. His demeanor, his questions invited her to trust him, when it couldn't possibly be warranted or prudent.

"This is more complicated...Miss Granger, it is not my place to tell. I just need to take her away from here, to a place where she cannot harm you."

She nodded, sipping her tea. "I...yes, Professor. You can...oh, bloody hell. Do as you see fit. I can't stop you, really."

He nodded slowly, looking away. "I will make you sleep. When you wake up, you won't remember this. Do you understand?"

"Yes, whatever you say is best. Whatever you say." All she could see now in her mind's eye was Snape, his comforting arms around her as she had railed against him and had cried on his chest earlier. She couldn't focus on anything else. She should have been angrier with him for taking this away, should have been disgusted with herself for allowing him to touch her- if anything, he was less attractive, older, tireder than she remembered. The nose had grown wider, the skin was paler, and the hair was now a limp, greasy black and gray, very long and loosely tied back. But it didn't seem to matter, in her weakened state, that he was physically unappealing. She hadn't been held - by anyone - in years. Her skin was still warm from his unexpected embrace.

Now, with a flick of his wand, she wouldn't even have that.

He drew closer to her and pulled out Umbridge's wand rather than his own. She was confused again. She remembered very well the wand he had when she had been a student; it was much longer, and of a darker wood than the one he held. For a split second, indecision crept into her mind, but she did not voice it as he whispered the incantation that would make her sleep. He then used Umbridge's wand to cast an _Obliviate_. As she fell completely insensate on his shoulder, he put his hands on her temples, using his Legilimency skills to coax into her mind altered memories of the night. He placed her on the couch, covering her with the blanket he found over the back of a nearby chair.

For just a moment, he watched her sleep. She had no idea _now_ that he had shown weakness in her presence, had made a foolish mistake in allowing his facade of aloofness to crack for her. It was naturally much better this way. If he could keep her from the knowledge of why Dumbledore was after her it would be worth the inexplicably empty feeling he had just now. It had been a long time since he had a cause to believe in, a plan to care about. But now, watching her sleep, he knew he had to protect her and fix the things that Dumbledore had broken five years ago. He would be able to keep his promise to Aberforth Dumbledore. Severus closed his eyes, remembering the feel of her in his arms, the soft sobs on his chest, her fiery eyes as she accused him of being a hypocrite. Straightening his hunched shoulders, he walked out, closing the door as quietly as possible, and looked at the lump of fetid humanity that was Dolores Umbridge.

Severus crouched down and touched her clammy, still arms, and Apparated her bound body to just outside the main entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Clutching her wand in his right hand still, he used another, more secure Binding charm on her that would easily last until at daybreak or later. Finally, he used her wand to cast Cruciatus on a passing squirrel. Smirking, he cleaned the wand of his own fingerprints and slipped it back in her pocket. She would be on the next train to Azkaban for casting an Unforgivable. One down, three to go.

~*~*~*~

"Severus, assuming you're not lying dead on Granger's floor. I'm buying you some time. Very, very little time. Use it wisely." Draco hung up after leaving the message, and Disapparated directly to his home office. He flipped on his computer, threw his boots and Slytherin shawl in an untidy heap on the floor, and began a very unusual entry in his LiveJournal.

_Forgive me for the cryptic post. I am working out a mental problem and sometimes it helps to write it all down._

_I spend all my time worrying about and watching a person I know. This person doesn't know, can never know, what is happening. But now I'm being asked by a third party - someone I cannot refuse - to give the person up. Saying no to the request would be disaster, but saying yes might be worse. Help me._

_Something is really rotten inside my world tonight._

Nothing else could be said without getting really strange to his other readers. His hope now was that Snape would read the post and decode the message within, quickly, if he wasn't dead. If he was...well, if he was, Draco had no choice but to swallow his feelings and ally himself with Dumbledore again. Alone, he had no impetus or backing to single-handedly defy the Ministry, his father, and Dumbledore. He was a fine watcher of people, but in all the power moves of being a Slytherin prince, the son of a formidable wizarding family, he'd never made the alliances he could have. His father's arrest and Voldemort's fall assured his place as a Ministry drudge, with occasional side work for Dumbledore. The situation with Hermione had been very unexpected and unethical and, despite his distaste for her in school, had horrified him. It was why he jumped at the chance to lend assistance to Snape. But now...Draco turned away from his computer, shaking his head in dismay. Against his better judgment, he placed the crystal ball on the desk again, waving his wand and putting his chin down close to the orb to try and see what would happen next. An owl fluttered in, with the expected note from the Misuse of Magic office asking him if magic had been used in or near Hermione's flat that night. The owl waited patiently as he scrawled a line on the note and sent it back.

Of course she had used magic - how else to explain the image they had all seen in Dumbledore's office of Snape laying on her floor? But he wasn't going to make this easy for the old man, even if Snape was now out of the picture, and even if his conflicting priorities were now closing in on him quickly.

~*~*~*~

"Minerva, I have some important business to attend to in London. Look after the students for a few days, my dear, will you?" Minerva McGonagall, shaking the sleep from her eyes to look at her unexpected visitor, noticed immediately the distraction and haste in Albus' face. She was fully aware that the Headmaster had not been himself for several weeks, including not even batting an eye when the talk at the staff table had turned to the release of Azkaban's most famous inmates weeks before. He'd been distracted, irritable, and reclusive to an extreme that she'd not seen in her many years of working for him. Minerva's finest gift in human relations, however, was her unwavering ability to keep her mouth completely shut when it was prudent. 

Also, she had a knack for taking advantage of opportunity when it presented itself. She could see one opening up right now.

"Anything I should be aware of?" she said lightly.

"No," he snapped, "but if Snape returns tonight, I want Fawkes to come to me immediately. Immediately, do you understand? Not in the morning, not after you're done with tea. Immediately."

"Yes, Albus. No need to be so testy, dear heart, you know thy will be done."

He betrayed further his descent into madness when he turned away without a last glance, rather than chuckle at their private endearment and inside joke. She'd passed from mild concern to alarm at his mental state in the blink of an eye.

Once her boss was well gone, Minerva walked down to the kitchens with deliberate speed. Ducking in after the appropriate tickle of the fruit, she cleared her throat. "Which of you is on duty?"

"Oh!" A small, ancient house elf jumped up from his mat on the floor. "Dinky is, Madam. Oh, Dinky was asleep on the job, bad Dinky! Bad!" The elf started to bang his head on a stockpot nearby, but Minerva laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. 

"I need some information, Dinky. About the Headmaster."

The elf looked around nervously. "You isn't Dinky's mistress, Madam. Dinky cannot betray his Dumbly-dorr, no ma'am, no no. Dinky keeps his master's secrets."

"Dinky, who is your master?"

"The school Headmaster."

"And if the Headmaster is not in residence?"

He thought a minute. "The Acting Headmaster?"

"Very good, very good, Dinky. Currently, I, Minerva McGonagall, am Acting Headmaster. So you will tell me what you know about Albus Dumbledore's state of mind. And you will tell me what you know about why he wants Severus Snape tonight, and anything else pertinent to his...mood. Do you understand, Dinky?"

The house-elf trembled in fear. He not only understood, he knew what she was after, and she wouldn't like it. No one on the house-elf staff understood what the fuss was about, but there was one of their number that Dinky knew would not hesitate to share the entire story with Professor McGonagall. Dobby was furious with the deal that Dumbledore had made with the Malfoy family and the Ministry. "Mistress, if I may."

"Speak freely, Dinky. Do not be alarmed at what I am asking. I need to know what is happening."

"Dobby. Dobby knows all, Mistress, I am just a lowly cook..."

"Wake him, please, Dinky. Wake him now. It's very important."

Forty-two minutes later, Minerva had trouble closing her mouth from the jaw-dropping story that Dobby told her about Albus, Aberforth, Hermione, and the conversation he had overheard between the Malfoys and Albus earlier while clearing away the Headmaster's dishes. He left no detail out. "How do you hear so much, Dobby?" She was in awe.

"House elves keep their master's secrets," Dobby said, looking affronted.

"Unless..."

"The Master turned over his authority to you when he was leaving tonight, yes. But Mistress Minerva, Miss Hermione loves house-elves. Even those..." he looked reproachfully across the room at his fellow sleeping elves, "that will not listen to Miss Hermione. We has our own thoughts, our own feelings, our own secrets, too. We tells those when asked by our masters." A gleam of vengeance shone in the house-elf's eyes.

~*~*~*~

Severus gave some thought to trying to track down Aberforth directly, as he ambled along the road leading away from the Ministry into the very early morning grayness. He should really get back to Hogwarts, but he was worried about Aberforth's reaction to what he had done to Hermione. As he pondered what to do next, a tawny owl swooped through the lightening sky to him.

He opened the note, recognizing Minerva's writing at once. "Stay, little one," he said to the owl. "I may need you for an errand." Severus searched in his cloak, finding a bit of biscuit to offer the owl while he read the terse note from his longtime friend and colleague.

He turned the note over and fished out a regular ballpoint pen. You never knew, in the field, when you'd need the mundane to function for you. "Message received. You'll need to find a substitute for a while. And don't worry; your precious young Gryffindor is unharmed. So far. I will send an update if it is safe."

He grimaced as he sent the owl back. Only a handful of change - Sickles and Knuts, not Muggle money - on him, and going to Gringotts would probably be madness if Dumbledore was looking for him. He'd have to call and wake up young Draco. Flipping open his phone and dialing, he continued walking in the ever-brightening dawn, unaware that he was being observed from the shadows.

~*~*~*~

Hermione awoke from a troubled sleep with a start. She shook her head, as if she'd had a really disturbing dream, but she couldn't quite place what it had been.

The evening seemed sort of fuzzy. She'd gone to get a bite and a drink with Henry, had walked home, checked her e-mail, and lay on the couch to read. She'd been asleep for a few hours, obviously, as she could see the first pinkness of dawn outside the window. Shaking the cobwebs off, she got up and walked back over to the computer to see if she'd gotten any email or interesting journal posts overnight.

Odd. There was an email from the night before, from Bats50, that she didn't remember. The time was all wrong - she should have seen this email. She opened it, and was startled at the content. It responded - rudely, of course - to a post that she didn't remember even making. Baffled, she looked over at her kitchen, searching for unremembered empty bottles. She didn't feel hung over...but that didn't necessarily follow, of course. Maybe she'd had a few more drinks than she thought. She read through her post and the response from Bats50. Something seemed very familiar about the answer to the post, but not the post itself.

Confused and still mumbling to herself about spiked drinks, she turned to her friends list. There was a very strange stalker post that didn't make any sense from QuIdiot. It made Hermione feel uncomfortable to read it, though she couldn't explain why she felt so strange about his words.

"I'm turning off this damn thing!" she muttered to no one in particular. "I need rest and calm, not fear." But even as she said the words, she knew something was wrong with her world. She couldn't get a handle on it, but she felt as if she should track Henry down and ask him what they'd discussed the night before. It was all vague. Something about his past. She needed to know more.

Walking slowly into the kitchen, she noticed that her teapot was across the room from the normal place she kept her tea things. Odder and odder. She filled the pot, took the cups - cups? - and put them in her dishwasher. Suddenly, she felt a wave of loss and loneliness wash over her. Where had that come from? What the hell were they putting in their Black and Tans over at the pub? 

Taking her now-steaming cup of tea into her bedroom, her eyes fell on the wizarding photograph on her dresser. She gasped as she nearly dropped her cup at the surprise waiting for her there. Severus Snape _waved_ at her, smirking as if they shared some kind of private joke, before turning his attention back to the long-ago completed Quidditch match. Draco Malfoy was now sitting in the stands instead of flying on his broom - next to his father. He wasn't looking at her anymore, though his back wasn't turned like her other classmates'. But as shocking as Snape's wave had been, nothing had prepared her for seeing Harry Potter's face again. He was half-turned towards her, looking at Snape, who nodded at him. 

"It's getting old. The enchantments are finally wearing off. Bloody photo," she said loudly, picking up the offending picture and slamming it into a drawer. "I won't hold with this... foolishness! It's over! Why can't you forget it, Hermione? Why?" She stomped into her bathroom, cursing loudly and swearing that she would get rid of her wand, her photos, everything. She was finished with it. All. "You hear me, wizards? Leave me the hell alone!" 


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione vaguely remembered that she'd been thinking of planning a vacation. After the smoke had cleared from being angry with the wizarding world at large, she decided that there was no time like the present to leave. A few of her LiveJournal friends had responded to her plea - the plea that she was fuzzy on ever making - for vacation ideas. There were suggestions of Bermuda, France, Gibraltar, Morocco, Jamaica, California, New York City, and Ireland so far. Bats50 had commented, "whatever you do, don't take your computer with you. I need a break from your incessant whining," which had made her laugh at the utter absurdity of the statement. He'd only been reading her journal for a few days. Clearly, he had a sadistic streak that she found compelling. Almost as if Professor Snape...   
  
No. She wouldn't think about him. Thinking of him and his wave in the photo just irritated her. She felt unaccountably angry, but didn't pause to think about what might cause the upsurge of emotion connected with the wizards in the picture - the ones that had formerly given her pleasure just short of obsession. She just needed to get away. Now.   
  
Hermione stripped down to her underwear and looked at herself critically in the mirror as her bath water ran. She really had lost weight in the past few weeks, ever since she'd started dealing with the magical stalker. She kept forgetting to eat and was really drinking too much. She ran a hand through her unruly mop, pausing at several tangles in the mess. Hell's bells, there's no way I can go to a tropical destination, she thought, looking uncomfortably at her pasty white skin and unhealthy ribcage. Scotland was out of the question - too many memories - and Ireland was a fairly common destination for her family as a child because of relatives on her mother's side. She wanted very much to go somewhere completely new and lose herself in a place where no one would notice her, where she could get away from whatever was happening here and find a week's peace before having to face reality again. And perhaps whoever had been following her would give up if she were gone. It's not like she had anything they'd want anyway.  
  
After bathing, dressing, and taking another cup of tea, she called her boss. "Oi, Karen, it's Hermione."  
  
"Hermione. Where are you? Are you home? There was someone here asking questions about you."  
  
Hermione went on full alert. "Who..."  
  
"Young man. Blond, quite attractive, really. Said he was an old friend of yours."  
  
Hermione did her best not to snort. She didn't have any old friends. "What did he ask? What did you say?"  
  
"I didn't have a chance. Henry was here, just finishing his shift, and he took the lad aside and got rid of him. I don't know what was said, but I thought you should know."  
  
Worry flared at the back of Hermione's mind at Henry's name. There was something missing, something she should know. It was right there, on the edge of her consciousness...she could almost touch it. Something about Henry that wasn't right. And who was the blond?  
  
"Karen, I'd like to finish up the last bit of the Dearborne project today at home and send you the files, and then take a vacation effective immediately. Will that be a..."  
  
"Oh!" Karen said, sounding fairly giddy. "Finally! I thought you'd never ask. Take all the time you want! You have so many weeks saved in your time bank. You've never taken a real vacation, love."  
  
"How well I know," Hermione muttered. "Any suggestions?"  
  
"Oh, I'm not really very well-travelled, you know. Only over to the Continent and back. But if money is no object, I'd consider a trip abroad rather than staying around here. Somewhere very far away, perhaps, and no taking your computer with you." She could hear Karen's finger wagging and smiled.  
  
"I'd have to bring it, Karen. You know there are too many outstanding projects on hold that will all jump out at us once I leave."  
  
Karen laughed. "I think we can handle things here. Send me the Dearborne files when you have them completed, and consider yourself off. Let me know when you plan to return so I can send out the cavalry if you aren't back."  
  
After they hung up, Hermione opened up her web browser and began to explore the world.  
  
~*~*~*~   
  
"Draco," Aberforth said as soon as he got the young man alone, "you know you can't afford to be seen here. We need you to stay out of sight and continue to play both sides the way you've been doing. It's the only way."  
  
"That's not as easy as it sounds," Draco said. "Times have changed. I tried to play both sides, as you say, yesterday. I showed your brother and my father the crystal ball - after you let Snape in and she managed to incapacitate him. Dumbledore - Albus - thought he might be dead, which certainly didn't upset him. Unfortunately, this had the effect of making him decide to come to London to see about Snape's death firsthand."  
  
"Oh, no. That means...he'll be headed for Hermione's." Aberforth said, raising a hand to stroke at his ghostly beard. Draco shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of his own mortality. "Why are you here, Draco?"  
  
"I was looking for you. But..."  
  
"Yes, but. You were asking Hermione's boss about her. Surely you know that will get back to her?"  
  
Draco looked sullen. "You don't understand the pressure I'm under...it would be better for her to know the truth, to arm herself."  
  
"Against you? Against Albus? I'm not sure I follow."  
  
"Against the Malfoy family, yes." Draco was tired of the game they were all playing; it was giving him a headache. "She deserves fair warning. All these secrets and spying and everything - it is going to backfire on all of us. If she gives that power back to your brother, all bets are off for those who have crossed him - Severus being number one on his list now, surely, unless he really is dead. And you know what he can do to you."   
  
"No worse than has already been done, I assure you," Aberforth said bitterly.   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"Do you think I'm a ghost by choice? Why do you think some people die and some live on in the spirit world, young Draco? I'm being held captive by my own foolishness. Hoisted on my own petard, to be sure. Severus is paying back a debt by helping me to pass over to the land of the dead."  
  
"And what's in it for him?" Draco was very confused.  
  
Aberforth shook his head. "That's not my place to tell you, Draco. You know what you must do; you must resist what your father wants."  
  
"I..."  
  
"You can. You must. Everything depends on your ability to continue to play this until she is safe."  
  
"If I play it, I'll end up dead."  
  
Aberforth looked at him seriously. "Perhaps."  
  
"Excuse me if I don't feel reassured."  
  
"Draco. Go home, get some rest, and come see me again when you're thinking more clearly."  
  
As Draco left, his phone began to ring. He shook his head in disbelief at the caller ID. "Hello? Who in the fuck..."  
  
"Draco. I've broken into your flat. Shoddy wards, Draco, very surprising considering your Charms marks. We need to talk...now. I've got my computer and I'm waiting for you to install it on your network so I can check in on Hermione."  
  
Draco closed his eyes. "I'm on my way, Severus. Oh, and Severus...glad you're not dead."  
  
"Humph. No thanks to that tramp of your mother's - I'm sure one of these owls perched on your hall tree has a note about the unexpected visitor on the Ministry doorstep this morning. See you in a moment."  
  
~*~*~  
  
_I've decided!  
  
Hi everyone, I'm going on vacation. I've had a weird couple of days...weeks? Years? Anyway, I'm going to take a little tour of a part of the world I have never experienced. My only hint is that it's one of your suggestions. If you want a postcard, you know my email address - send me your snail mail. Also, I am not taking my computer...but I plan on checking in now and then at a 'net cafe, which lets you know I'm not planning on going to Antarctica. One continent down.  
  
I'll see you all in a couple of weeks. QuIdiot - be good, and as far as your problem, I say just go for it and whatever the jerk is thinking that's trying to take your friend away from you - well, you don't need someone in your life telling you what to do. I mean really. You don't strike me as the type that lets other people pull his strings. You're strong. I have faith that you'll do the right thing by the person you're stalking (really, why don't you just talk to this person? I'm confused) and that you'll tell the person who wants you to give it up to stuff it.  
  
Bats50 - you're pretty fucking nosy and opinionated and snarky. You remind me of someone I used to know, only you can't be that much of a prat. It's not humanly possible.   
  
mood: out of here  
music: I'm gone, gone, gone..._  
  
~*~*~  
  
_Reply by: QuIdiot  
Just up and leaving? Listen, BeWitched, are you still around? you haven't left yet have you? Say you haven't. I need to talk to you about something. Please still be home.  
  
Reply by: Bats50  
Getting out of the country would be good for you, under the circumstances. You sound very stressed. I, too, am in exile right now. Be safe. And please, don't send messages on my account. Time without you would be nice.  
  
_~*~*~  
  
_Reply by: BeWitched  
What's up, Qu?  
  
Reply by: BeWitched  
Git.  
_  
~*~*~  
  
_Reply by: QuIdiot  
I'm on AIM. I know you don't normally AIM, but it's rather urgent.  
  
Reply by: Bats50  
Naturally. But under the circumstances, you should at least let all of us who hang on your every word and move know when you've arrived at your destination safely. My estimation of you might recover somewhat.  
  
I suggest you leave now, before QuIdiot draws you into a pointless discussion of his manliness.  
  
Reply by: QuIdiot  
Fuck off, Bats50.  
  
_~*~*~  
  
_Reply by: BeWitched  
Do you two know each other? It doesn't matter. I'm out of here. Whatever it is, Qu, it will have to wait until I'm there. Kisses. But not to you, Bats50.  
  
_ ~*~*~  
  
"What in the bloody hell was that about?" Draco said to Severus, seated at a desk to Draco's right in the middle of his office/guest room. "I wanted to stop her, to warn her of the danger! You can't push her away like that!"  
  
"Look, Draco," Severus said quietly, "it's better that she not know. She proved last night that she can defend against magical attacks quite well on her own. Time away would be the best thing for her, especially since right now only you and I know she's leaving. And you're not going to tell anyone about it, right?" Draco looked uncomfortable. "What is it, Draco? What does Lucius have on you now? I've seen this look on your face before - six years ago, before you decided to do the right thing and defy him. You can do that again, you know."  
  
"I can't. I can only stall until this is over or until I'm dead." Draco's voice broke. "He's got me this time, Severus, he really does."  
  
"What is it? I can help you..."  
  
"No one can," Draco said, staring out the window. "It was something he did to me at birth. He's never invoked it before, but he did last night at the pub."  
  
"What?" said Snape, alarmed.  
  
"Blood magic. Dark, very old. If I don't do what my father commands, I will die. He marked my blood as an infant with a potion that, when activated by a certain ancient spell, begins to spill poison into my system in tiny increments. If I don't do what he wants, the poison will cause madness and finally death. If I do what he asked, he will say the countercurse and free me." The last was said in a whisper.  
  
Snape looked in horror at Draco, as the truth of the matter sunk in. He was quite familiar with this potion, but it hadn't been used to his knowledge in many years. It had been rumoured that Voldemort had used it with a few of his Death Eaters whose loyalty was suspect, but considering it had never been used on Snape, he'd thought that it was just rumour, nothing more. "You have to betray her and hand her over to your father, or you will die."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And if she's away on holiday, you'll be ordered to track her down - especially now that she will be gone from her flat and the magical protection she's unknowingly created for herself will be gone." Snape's head was bowed. He reached out his hands to Draco's head, pulling him towards him, cradling the suddenly-teary young man. "Draco, Draco. How he hurts you, even when you're a grown man. I should have killed him when I had the chance. I'm so sorry, so sorry." The waves of guilt were washing over Severus as he held his young sobbing friend. No one else would have ever seen the more tender, angst-ridden side of either of them, but they had bonded due to the act of renouncing the Dark Lord at great personal cost. Now, Draco was being asked to do something vile by betraying an innocent Hermione, or die. The choice was far more difficult when there were physical, rather than moral, certainties to be weighed.  
  
"I Obliviated her yesterday, Draco. She doesn't know. I thought it would be easier that way, but..."  
  
"She has to be protected against the thing I have to do. It's the only choice. She has to be given a fighting chance."  
  
Snape nodded. "I have to find out where she's going. I'm _persona non grata_ now anyway, and Minerva is covering my arse at the school. Let Dumbledore think I've disappeared or am dead. Let him think she's disappeared as well. You've been asked to betray her, but not me, Draco. Let me protect her and keep her from harm and we can get through this thing with your life and hers. I swear to you that I won't let your father win."  
  
Draco wiped his eyes, looking again at the man he'd come to consider his mentor over the past several years. "Can...I ask you something?"  
  
"Anything," Snape said, straightening up and attempting to regain his composure. "Within reason. And then I need to find her and undo the damage I have done."  
  
"Aberforth said you are doing this because of a debt."  
  
Snape blanched, which surprised Draco. "I cannot answer that. Please don't ask me to divulge that, Draco."  
  
"But you are putting everything on the line here. You're in hiding from Dumbledore, who would probably kill you on sight because he believes - knows - you have betrayed his wishes. You've gotten involved in this thing and while I can understand my role, Dumbledore's and his brother's roles, and even my father's role, I can't comprehend what's in this for you."  
  
"You're a Slytherin, Draco," Snape whispered. "There are shades of green and silver. We never do anything unless there is a payoff. That's how you are thinking, and I can't deny that...but I can't tell you this."  
  
"I've given you my secret," Draco said a little petulantly.  
  
"It's not the same. I'm going to save you, but you cannot save me. Only one person can." Snape looked away, standing up and grabbing his computer off the desk. "I have to get ready to travel."  
  
"That's it, then?"  
  
"You have to do what you have to do to survive, Draco. But I'll be there. We'll be standing on opposite sides."  
  
"Will we?"  
  
Snape nodded once, and walked towards the door. He stopped, turning, and looked once more at the youngest Malfoy. "I will still have my phone and my computer. You know where to find me should you have need of...anything." He turned again and walked out the door, leaving Draco thoughtfully perplexed.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Snape threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself, taking the stairs two at a time. If she wasn't gone, he could enter her flat undetected and see if he could divine her plans. He'd been invited in, so in theory he could still enter under stealth. In theory.  
  
When he arrived on her doorstep, she was just leaving. He heard her humming a song and watched her walk by him, and suddenly stop and wheel around. "Who's there?" she yelled. "Stalker. You won't find me where I'm going. Leave me the fuck alone!" She ran down the stairs, and he stayed put. He'd heard enough from the song to know where to look for her; even with a passing knowledge of Muggle music, he'd recognize "New York, New York" anywhere. It was a city he had visited only once, several years before, on assignment with Lupin for the Order. That was back when Dumbledore was in full possession of his mental faculties - but, of course, only because he was on borrowed time. They hadn't been aware of the source of his seemingly endless power at the time. Aberforth was no more to him than a bawdy joke then, not a human being. How things had changed.   
  
New York was a big city, but he'd find her. She was likely going to take an airplane considering the level of her magical training; he could Apparate to New York, but she would not have ever learned the protocols for trans-Atlantic Apparation given the timing of her banishment. He'd stake out JFK and wait for arrivals from Heathrow. If he didn't find her that way - if she flew in to one of the other New York City airports, for instance, or didn't fly direct from London - he'd eventually find her with a locator spell.   
  
And then he'd tell her everything, no holds barred. Everything. He'd swallow his pride, he'd stop acting like an ass for a few hours, and then he'd go back to being Snivellus the Evil Git and walk out of her life. But she'd be ready, and he'd be there. In the shadows, waiting for the attack, but there.  
  
After Snape was fairly sure she had exited the building, he turned to walk down the stairs. As he descended, he heard the outside door slam and flattened himself against the wall as Albus Dumbledore walked up the stairs next to him. "Ah, yes, here it is," he said. He pulled out his wand and muttered a spell, and the door swung open. Snape watched, fascinated, as Dumbledore tried several ways to get into the flat but could not enter. Shaking his head, he finally turned to descend the stairs, muttering about his brother's foolishness and questioning Snape's parentage in a colorful way. Albus' magic was so weak, he couldn't even feel Snape standing right there - when before, he'd been able to sense and see right through Invisibility Cloaks.  
  
The bright lights and big American city of excess and eerie beauty were beckoning. Snape Apparated with a curiously satisfied, determined smirk firmly on his face.  



	9. Chapter 9

Settled into a first-class seat on a non-stop Virgin Atlantic flight to John F. Kennedy Airport, Hermione Granger pulled out her iPod and earbuds and tried to clear her head of everything that had happened the last few weeks. Random play served up a light jazz number first. She began to use some meditation techniques she had learned a few years back, when she had first entered the Muggle world again and had been unable to sleep or eat well. She drifted into recollection, thinking about those dark days.  
  
When her doctor had prescribed tranquilizers and anti-depressants, Hermione had recoiled visibly. "Miss Granger, I assure you, these will help a great deal." The anti-depressants actually had helped. There was no question that a very deep depression had followed the injustice of her last days in the world she had embraced and begun to call her own. But her doctor also had given her a name of a naturopath, who taught her several meditation techniques in addition to some yoga. She'd added a few herbal preparations and prescribed a few massage treatments. "Until your idiopathic anti-depressant takes effect, the massage and the herbs will help a good deal." Hermione had wanted to scoff, but had recognized many of the herbs used in the tinctures as plants that had been key ingredients of many of the calming and pain-relief potions she'd been taught by Professor Snape..  
  
That name, and the waving photographic image it conjured up, caused her to tense up. She shifted in her seat and resolved strongly to clear her mind again and try and get wizards off her mind...   
  
At one point she'd nearly asked the naturopath if she was a witch. The massage felt magical - she could feel a warmth, a gentle tingle in her muscles that possibly only someone who was familiar with magic might have known. It was impossible for a witch to be in contact with her, so she'd let it drop, but the potions the woman had produced would have met with even Snape's approval.  
  
There he was again. Hermione stirred, opening her eyes, and motioned the flight attendant over. "Can I get a Bloody Mary?"  
  
Alcohol. And lots of it. Maybe then she could erase the image of her former Potions Master that kept entering her thoughts.   
  
~*~*~   
  
It was not much of an inconvenience to Apparate from gate to gate within the terminal, checking arrivals on different airlines from London. In fact, he'd been able to keep time with the few flights coming into LaGuardia and Newark. Absurdly pleased with himself and the role of Important Businessman from London he'd adopted, he kept ducking into a men's room in Long Island and reappearing in a men's room in New Jersey, to a different airport in Flushing, over and over.   
  
It had been so long since he'd done anything that made him want to laugh. But he did, very much, feel free, despite the odd suit and tie he had transfigured. He was dead to everyone but Minerva and Draco, after all.   
  
And Hermione thought he was alive, but she wouldn't remember why she might have thought otherwise.   
  
Suddenly, all the fun went out of the Apparition chore, and he grew anxious. What would she do when she discovered he was her stalker? He remembered her half-brave, half-terrified words on her stairs only a few hours before. Swallowing his pride would be incredibly difficult. It wasn't something intrinsic to his nature, in the least. It had to be done. He needed her forgiveness and understanding to make the rest work.   
  
_Do you really, Severus? Do you really need her to understand this for her sake, or yours?_   
  
_Shut up!_   
  
_Is it really necessary to your plan, or do you just want to see her again? Did you, perhaps, enjoy holding her in your arms a little overmuch? She'll never allow that to happen again, I guarantee it._   
  
_Quiet, Bats50, you wanker. That is NOT my intention, and you know that better than anyone. I was just protecting myself from her righteously overwrought anger, and of course, the fists._   
  
_Indeed._   
  
_And protecting my...investment...in her. _   
  
_So you say. Is that what it is, or what it used to be?_   
  
_Just be quiet, you. I can banish you back to cyberoblivion if you don't behave._   
  
With a pop, he was back at JFK, pretending to be interested in _The Wall Street Journal_ over a cup of bad coffee, casually monitoring the gate for the next arriving plane from Gatwick Airport.   
  
~*~*~   
  
"Mother, I've lost Umbridge. I'm sorry."   
  
"You'll get her out, of course. I'm counting on you, Draco."   
  
"I have some pull here, Mother, but not enough to save a parolee from Azkaban when she's broken her terms of release so egregiously."   
  
"You could have told them she hadn't been in Hermione's apartment."   
  
"They knew. Her wand had cast an Obliviate, and she still had remnants of Polyjuice in her system. A little Veritaserum and it all came spilling right out. You're very lucky they didn't question her about you or Father, or you'd all be headed back to Azkaban."   
  
"Me? I have nothing to do with this."   
  
"Mother, you _know_ about it, and that's enough."   
  
Narcissa paled, but remained composed. "I can't control what your father does."   
  
"I know, Mother. No more than I can control the Ministry hacks."   
  
"But you're the Arbiter!"   
  
"All I can do is watch and try and prevent things, but I can't prevent Dolores Umbridge showing up on the Ministry stairs with a wand that's cast an illegal Memory charm and a bloodstream full of illegal Polyjuice!" Draco was tiring of his mother's circular argument; he'd never been able to figure out the disgusting fascination his mother had for the woman. At one time, Draco had really liked Umbridge. She'd given him the power and respect he'd craved. That was before she had insulted his mentor and Head of House, and he'd been allowed to see what she and her kind were really like. That year had been the first step in showing Draco that his father's path wasn't necessarily the one he should choose. In many ways, he was bound to the Malfoy name, but just as Lucius had defied family tradition by marrying a Black instead of one of the more noble wizarding houses like the Parkinsons or the Bulstrodes, Draco had a certain leeway and he'd used it to try and help out the only person who'd ever really helped him. Now, of course, Snape had told him that they'd be standing on opposite sides. For once, Draco hoped that he would be the one to lose.   
  
He had such a mix of emotions about his involvement with Granger. He'd despised her in school, despised Potty and the Weasel. That was all very real. He didn't miss her, even if he knew that her exile wasn't entirely fair. But once he'd been assigned to monitoring her, things had changed. She wasn't at all what he thought. He couldn't hate her, and in fact, had come to enjoy their conversations on LiveJournal so much that they became the highlight of his day.   
  
Now he had to deliver her to his father, or die? How had this come about? God, he hated being a Malfoy.   
  
"You'll do what you can, Draco. I know you won't fail me and your father. I'd hate to lose my only son over this." Narcissa stood up from her chair in the small cafe they'd met in for lunch, looking icily at her son as she threw six galleons on the table. "But if that's what it comes to, that's what it shall be." She turned and walked out, leaving Draco empty and his soul very cold.   
  
~*~*~   
  
"Well, Albus?" Lucius sat in what was becoming his usual chair in Dumbledore's office as the Headmaster walked in.   
  
"I didn't find Snape. I didn't find Granger. I'm too weak to discern anything about their whereabouts, and I have no idea where my brother is."   
  
"My son will know..."   
  
"Blast your son!" Dumbledore said, agitated. "He's no great help!"   
  
"Albus, he will die if he doesn't deliver," Lucius said calmly.   
  
Dumbledore looked at Lucius Malfoy, as if seeing him for the first time. "You'd kill for this? I don't understand. You'd kill your own son?"   
  
"Oh, don't look so shocked. You know what I'm capable of. But it won't come to murder, at least of Draco. He will deliver. His self-preservation instinct is strong; he's a Malfoy."   
  
"Are you so sure?" Dumbledore sat down now, weakly, his head in his hands. "What have I become?"   
  
Lucius was smooth, if nothing else; he could see Dumbledore falter, begin to think of the possibilities of just letting this quest go now and go quietly into retirement. "You're trying to recover your rightful inheritance. We've stood on opposite sides many times, but we have a common thread here. Don't give up." He placed a comforting hand on Albus's shoulder. "This will happen, and we'll all get what we want, and you'll be fine."   
  
"I need to rest," Albus said. "I can't think..."   
  
"Let me help you," Lucius said solicitously, offering his arm.   
  
~*~*~   
  
"And then Lucius said...well, it was shocking really, to see Albus like that. I had to make Godric move so I could get a better look, the prat, but then..."   
  
"Enough!" Minerva said. "I'm about to throw up as it is. I had no idea it was so bad. Rowena, you need to start from the beginning, my friend."   
  
Minerva had surreptiously removed the second, more garish and loud painting of Rowena Ravenclaw from the little-used Ravenclaw Meeting Room to her private chambers. She needed to know what was happening with Albus, and Rowena really had a gift of gab. The portrait of the Founders in the Headmaster's office was dusty, high up in a hidden nook, and hung behind a thick tapestry. It also had been well-overlooked when Albus had gone through one of his paranoid rages and had the House-Elves remove the former Headmaster portraits from his office the week before.   
  
Minerva steeled herself for a long, shocking night, as the garishly-bedecked Rowena wound up with the classic Ravenclaw superior, I know-something-you-don't, smirk before beginning the tale. For a fleeting moment Minerva wished she'd gotten Salazar Slytherin's portrait from the dungeon instead.   
  
~*~*~   
  
Hermione felt only a tiny a bit sheepish; three Bloody Marys while high above the Atlantic meant instant over-intoxication. "I'm drinkin' too much these days," she said to her neighbor across the aisle.   
  
"Indeed," the man said, burying his nose further into his novel.   
  
"No, reallllly!" Hermione said, smiling her most winning smile as she slurred her words. "Things-a sorta been, well, muddled. Hella fucked, they've been. Bats and quidiots and fuck."   
  
The man tried really hard to pretend as if he hadn't heard anything. It was best to deal with drunk passengers in first class as if they weren't there, he'd learned through much trial-and-error.   
  
"First I was a witch. Then I wasn't a witch. Then there were a buncha wizards around tellin me whadda fuck. What the hell they want with me, anyway. They gonna kill me? Or kiss me. Heh. Say, you wanna drink?"   
  
Obviously, mused the man to himself as he turned the page, this one was an escapee from a mental institution.   
  
"This is serious!" she said too loudly. "Don't you get it? They're after me!" She put her earbuds back in and immediately passed out.   
  
The man, nattily attired in a low-key blue pinstriped suit with a red tie, lowered his prim and proper mystery novel and hailed the flight attendant. "I'll have whatever she's having."   
  
~*~*~   
  
Severus checked his cell-phone's clock. Another hour until the next flight was scheduled to arrive, this time from Gatwick on Virgin at JFK. This was a pretty likely candidate given the time-frame, and she hadn't come in on the last one which had also been likely (American, also at JFK.) He'd switched at some point from the ridiculous muck they called coffee in the airport to this cheap ale called Budweiser, which was easily the most vile brew since the invention of butterbeer. Still, he didn't stand out sitting around at the bar trying to look American and disinterested, and that was the goal.   
  
"Dude," said a tall, lanky fellow wearing oversized clothing and a strange cap that had plopped onto the stool next to him. "You gotta light?"   
  
Snape raised one eyebrow, thinking the man a bit familiar but not certain where he'd seen him. "If you're planning on smoking, I'm leaving."   
  
"Dude, you're English! Far out!" The young man grinned. "John Thacker," he said, extending a hand.   
  
Snape looked dubiously at the outstretched hand. "Charmed," he finally said, not shaking the hand.   
  
"You gotta loosen up, man," the man said. "Hey, dude!"   
  
The barkeep seemed to understand the difference between "dude" as applied to Severus, and "dude" as applied to "get us a round, please". Two more glasses of the vile pale ale were set down.   
  
"So, tell me," the oblivious young man continued, "English chicks. Do they really not shave their pits, or what?"   
  
Just as Snape was looking for the least obvious way to get away from the obnoxious young man, his hand inadvertently brushed the fellow's shoulder. He was swimming in magic - it jumped out in a huge arc and slammed into Snape's body with surprising force. Suddenly, he realized where he'd seen the man before - at a coffee shop earlier in the day at LaGuardia.   
  
"You..." he lowered his voice. "A wizard?"   
  
Nothing but a cheeky grin answered, as John Thacker turned to his beer. "She's on this one, man, I can feel it in my toes. You'll have to beat me to the gate."   
  
~*~*~   
  
"It's taken care of, Father. You get your wish."   
  
"Excellent, Draco. I look forward to seeing Miss Granger."   
  
"You will, Father, very soon."   
  
~*~*~   
  
"Miss Granger? We're arriving, could you fasten your seatbelt? Miss..." The flight attendant, a perky little brunette by the name of Joanne, was having some trouble rousing the occupant of seat 2B from her nap.   
  
"Allow me," the man across the aisle with the now-loosened red tie and discarded suit jacket said. He reached over, took her earbuds out, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Granger, wake up. The wizards won't hurt you, love, I won't let them." Hermione stretched, yawned, smiled, and buckled her seatbelt before falling back into her snooze.   
  
Joanne looked at them both and rolled her eyes.   
  
~*~*~   
  
Snape had no idea who this man was, but damned if he was going to get to her first. Snape got up and broke into a run. "Hey!" the bartender yelled, "You didn't..."   
  
John Thacker smirked, throwing down a crisp twenty. "It's on me," he smirked. He started after Snape before he realized he'd lost him completely. "Well, he'll be at this gate soon enough," John said to himself, going back to the bar and finishing his beer. "I can wait."   
  
~*~*~   
  
Trembling, Severus Snape stood before the ticket counter attendant. "My wife...she's coming home, and I have been waiting here all day. I need to know if she's on this flight. Please...I know it's against your rules, but can you just tell me if there is a passenger named Granger?"   
  
"I'm sorry, sir. You're right, it's against our rules."   
  
His grip tightened on his wand. An illegal _Imperio_ would do it, but would also have the American Magical authorities on him in record time. "I'm sorry, I'm just so worried. How can I find out if she's on this flight?"   
  
"Sorry, sir, you'll have to wait at the gate with everyone else," the bored counter agent said. "Next please."   
  
An idea occurred to Snape. It was risky. Very, very risky, but he had the cloak. Of course.   
  
"Ma'am? Do you have a map of a layout of that airplane?"   
  
She looked at him very suspiciously. "Why?"   
  
"Nothing, I was just curious." He ambled away. She looked at him thoughtfully, then called security.   
  
"There was a man here asking about the layout of our aircraft. He was English but really, really scruffy looking - bad hair and teeth - I know we're not supposed to profile these people, but there was something odd about him. And he was asking about a passenger. Can you check it out? He just went into the men's room by the Virgin Atlantic ticket counter."   
  
When security arrived, they found no one in the restroom.   
  
~*~*~   
  
Only twenty minutes until this plane landed. Snape found a public Internet terminal to plug his laptop into, and quickly pulled up the layout of Hermione's plane from Virgin's own website. He thanked the gods that Draco had taught him how to use a computer now. The lavatories were in the rear and near the front. Would she have flown first class? He would have to decide on one, and possibly walk the length of the rather large plane if he didn't guess right. What to do...Apparating into a moving target was nearly suicide, but he couldn't risk waiting for her to hit the ground now that there was an unknown predator waiting. If he splinched, he failed. It had to work.   
  
Hoping to Merlin he was right, he settled on First Class, reasoning that if he poked his head out and didn't see her he could try Apparating to the back before anyone could catch him. It was a half-baked plan, to be sure, but all he could come up with on the spur of the moment. He ducked into the men's room again, picturing the airplane, picturing the tiny lavatory and trying not to think of himself being splinched...   
  
...and was hit with a rather powerful hex of indeterminate nature. He was awake and aware, but everything seemed to be in slow motion.   
  
"I've taken us both out of time, Snape," John Thacker said into his ear softly. "If you tell me why you want her, I might let you go get her. I might."   
  
"I should be asking you the same question."   
  
"I'm the one in charge, here, and you can't move."   
  
"How do you know me?"   
  
"Stop dancing around the issue. Why are you involved in this? You're supposed to be dead."   
  
Snape only had one shot. "I am dead." Using a technique he had learned from a Healer many moons ago, he closed his eyes and willed his heart and breathing to stop.   
  
"What the fuck...Snape...fuck you! Wake up! Goddamn it. _Finite incantatem._" John was looking thoroughly perplexed. "Now what do I fucking do, I can't leave you here. Fuck me...you wanker! You did this on purpose, well, it won't work..." John turned away to look for something to transfigure to hide the body with while he went to get Hermione. When he turned back, Snape was gone.   
  
~*~*~   
  
It was amazing that Snape didn't splinch, given the circumstances under which he Apparated. He ended up losing his ponytail in the wall, but all in all, things went well. After all, his head missed by a fraction of an inch, and he'd been meaning to cut his hair anyway. And there was no one in the loo. The plane was descending, he could feel it. He cracked open the door.   
  
There she was. Right in front of him.   
  
He stepped out, sliding into the seat next to her. She appeared to be asleep. "Wake up!"   
  
"Who in the bloody hell are you?" the man across from her demanded. "Where did you come from?"   
  
"This isn't your concern," Snape said. "Hermione! Hermione Granger! Wake up now."   
  
"This girl is scared and alone and drunk. It _is_ my concern," said the man, puffing up in fatherly importance. Snape rolled his eyes. "I am a - friend - of hers. She'll tell you that herself. Hermione, wake up!"   
  
The sound of Snape's voice brought her out of her second round of sleep. She stretched, yawned, and looked at him. "What in the bloody...Snape in a suit? Holy Mother of..."   
  
"Listen. You may not like me. Fair enough. But there's someone waiting at the airport to..."   
  
"Oh, no. I'm not listening to you. I'm done with wizards. I don't know why you're here, but bugger off."   
  
"See!" the man across the way said, "leave the lady alone! You heard her."   
  
Hermione smiled at her protector. "Thank you."   
  
"You will be captured when you walk off the plane by a wizard I've never seen," Snape hissed. "Is that what you want? I'm here to help you, you bloody stupid girl."   
  
She goggled. "Fuck you."   
  
"Fine. Later. But right now, I have to get you to safety."   
  
"And I can trust you because..." She was clearly a little drunk and just as belligerent as she'd been the previous night. He had to push down the surge of annoyance and strange _longing_ that hit him.   
  
"You trust me and live. You don't and you may die. It's up to you. I can Apparate away right now and not return. Your choice."   
  
She looked at the man across from her. "You see? The wizards _are_ after me. And I bet you thought I was bloody crazy, didn't you?"   
  
Snape folded his arms and looked at her. "Drunkard."   
  
"Bastard."   
  
"Fair enough. Will you let me Apparate you off the plane before it arrives at the bloody gate, or not?"   
  
"I'm drunk," she said, getting weepy. "I'm sorry, Professor..."   
  
"Oh, hell," said the man across the aisle.   
  
"Perhaps you best read your novel, sir."   
  
"It's not quite as entertaining as this," the man said.   
  
"Bollocks on you both. Men." Hermione harumphed, wiping a stray tear, and looked at Snape. "Why did you wave to me?"   
  
"What?" Snape said, growing increasingly impatient. They had just touched down and were taxiing.   
  
"In the picture. You waved."   
  
"Can we talk about this when you're safe?"   
  
She looked around. "Bloody safe now."   
  
"I don't have time for this." He palmed his wand and muttered a spell while touching her arm. She suddenly looked at him, very wide eyed. "Thank God you're a Legilimens. Let's go."   
  
The man across the aisle watched as the woman and the man with the bad haircut suddenly got up and went into the loo together. "Bloody hell," he said. When the plane got to the gate, everyone got up to leave, but the man with the red tie sat and watched carefully. Finally, he got up and gathered his bags and opened the door.   
  
They were gone.   
  
Walking down the ramp, he pondered how this crazy stuff had all gone down when he walked directly into a tall, blonde man in a ball cap and a surfer shirt.   
  
"Dude," the man said, "Have you seen this chick?" He waved a small picture of Hermione.   
  
"Sorry," the man said, "never met her."   
  
~*~*~   
  
"Where are we, anyway? And why are we taking the bloody steps? Can't you just Apparate us?"   
  
"I have no idea who that man was, Miss Granger, but I have a sneaking suspicion he'll have trouble finding us on the 33rd floor. And you can't Apparate to that floor. Come on."   
  
"Where are we?"   
  
"You're really very tiresome, you know that?"   
  
"Fuck off."   
  
Snape wheeled around, startling Hermione, and hissed, "I'm saving your life. I can't, for the life of me, remember why at this point. You ungrateful, childish, little whiny know-it-all Gryffindor bitch! If you're so bloody smart, maybe you'll figure it out for yourself." He turned again, stomping up the stairs past the 30th floor sign.   
  
She stood, mouth agape, watching him walk up the stairs out of her sight. She was feeling a bit petulant, of course, but the reality of three strong drinks and an unnerving Dual-Apparation escape from an airplane lavatory to elude who-knows-who to go where-knows-where with this particular wizard had made her feel that way. And having to trust Snape was quite difficult. She had a very odd feeling about him, like there was something she really _should_ know but couldn't place. Something that was warm and inviting, and yet frightened her a great deal. It was very similar to the sensation she'd had when she woke up and found the two cups instead of one in her kitchen.   
  
Shaking her head and muttering to herself, she caught up to Snape, who had at some point transfigured his business suit back into a set of the usual black billowing robes. They were now approaching the 33rd floor. "What is special about this floor?" she asked meekly.   
  
"There's a room..." he trailed off, opening the door. "This floor is not particularly unusual in itself. However, there is a room towards the middle that is very similar to Hogwarts' Room of Requirement. If we can get there and have you cast a small protection spell on the room, I believe the power that protects you in your flat will protect us from prying eyes until I can speak to you about what has been happening to you. If you can keep a civil tongue in your head." He scowled and felt along the wall.   
  
"This is the Empire State Building," he continued, "built by average immigrant labor, but labor following unusual designs, even by the Art Deco standards of the day. The 33rd floor was left to the designers themselves to build out and complete. Wizards, of course, though it's not well known even in American magical folklore." He tapped in a few places and his scowl deepened. "Lupin and I used this room once."   
  
"Why do I have to..."   
  
"Stupid girl!" he hissed, cringing inwardly at himself for being so impatient with her. "They're after you and any ward you cast will be thrice what mine would be. Be patient."   
  
"You're still the same arrogant bastard you were five years ago," she spat.   
  
"Yes," was his only comment. Finally, he slipped the wand out of his pocket and muttered a spell. A door shimmered into view. "Be quick about it, Miss Granger, we haven't much time."   
  
"Who...oh, blast it, I'm done asking you anything." She stepped through the doorway just as the door shimmered back into oblivion.   
  
Several minutes later, an attractive young man carrying a briefcase came walking down the hall. A young woman exited an office near his path, and was startled to see him. "Dude," he said in his most charming California-surfer tone, "sorry to have startled you. Do you know where the office of Malfoi Brothers might be?"   
  
~*~*~   
  
The wards had been cast, a fire was crackling in the grate, and the Manhattan version of The Room of Requirement had provided them with everything they'd need to set up housekeeping for a few days. Snape was seated on the least comfortable armchair provided. Hermione supposed he was doing some kind of penance; she could see fairly obvious pain in his dark eyes as he stared into the fire, not speaking. Hermione had been manically pacing, but she stopped and walked over to Snape's chair, sinking down and sitting beside him on the carpet.   
  
He looked at her. "There are plenty of chairs, Miss Granger."   
  
"You have some talking to do. So, talk. And I prefer the floor."   
  
Snape sighed - possibly the most human sound she'd heard him make, and oddly familiar at that - and closed his eyes. "In the beginning, Miss Granger, there were two Dumbledore brothers and their misguided father, who believed that no magic was truly Dark if it was used to increase the Light..." 


	10. Chapter 10

Both parties watched the fire, rather than each other, as Snape related the story of the Dumbledore brothers, beginning with Aberforth's reclamation of his powers and subsequent bequest to Hermione before his death, and Albus' quest to regain his lost magic. Hermione tried to interrupt once to ask questions, but Snape asked her to wait until he was finished to begin her barrage. She quieted and half-listened, half-mentally raced to the finish line of the story. It all seemed so familiar, as if she'd read it in a paperback novel and was now watching the BBC version; with echoes of things on the edge of her consciousness, and plotlines that were too fantastic to be believed.

She suspected he was leaving details out of his narrative. She could almost hear the gaping holes, teasing her with unspoken secrets. Why was he spewing so much vitriol on Albus and none on Aberforth? Clearly there had to be more to it than a simple story of grey magic and sibling rivalry – why all the intrigue? Why not just give the magic back to Albus? It wasn't as if she had any pressing need for it, and it certainly would be a relief to finally get these people to stop following her, and get back to her quiet little life.

He fell silent in the middle of a sentence about how Albus had endeavored to find her. The gaps in the narrative had caught up with him, apparently. She sighed, grabbing a pillow to lean her back against the leg of the armchair behind her, and finally looked at him again. He looked very tired, though not otherwise much different than she remembered him. There were a couple of white streaks in his hair that seemed to be the only conciliation to his aging process. Was that recent, she wondered, or the result of five hard years after she had gone? 

"I'm not sure what to call you now," she said to break the uncomfortable silence, "Professor Snape seems so formal."

He had not taken his eyes off the fire, mostly because he was nervous of what he might find if he looked at her. He was aware that she was perceptive enough to know that there were words left unsaid. Why was he still protecting her from hearing this? He could reverse the memory charm now, he supposed, but that would open up possibilities that were too unnerving to contemplate. He could still feel her shaking, angry body in his arms from the night before, the tears on his skin and the way her hair had felt as it brushed against his hands. If he looked at her now, with her memory of that night revealed, she might rattle him again, and that wouldn't do. It was appalling, truly, how much she had affected him the previous night. Perhaps it was the magic, or perhaps it simply was the fact that he had come to discover through his surveillance that she was generous to her friends, warm, lonely, funny, and _a woman_.

That was the crux of the problem, really. He couldn't explain why he was so involved. The reasons that were there when he started were, perhaps, not the same reasons he was involved now. He wasn't really accustomed to having _feelings_ that didn't involve hatred or loathing for teaching or various former Gryffindors, or grudging respect for a precious few wizards and witches. What he felt for the woman seated next to him was confusing, unnerving and unexpected.

He lifted one eyebrow as he finally looked at her, burying the turmoil of his thoughts. He had always had a talent for putting up barriers to intimacy, and could draw on that skill now, surely. "Severus would be acceptable, since we shall be here at least overnight and perhaps longer."

"Please call me Hermione, then."

He nodded, looking away from the fire in the opposite direction of where she was sprawled on the floor. "There is...more."

"Of course there is. Whenever you're ready." She decided that it wouldn't do to rush him, though resisting the temptation to be flippant was difficult. She clearly had him at a disadvantage now that she knew how important this gift of magic was. She sensed his tension, as evidenced by the fact that he could not look at her, and had a vague sense of unease about it; as if there was some unspoken angst that he had in her presence that she wasn't quite privy to, prickling at the edge of her consciousness. At the same time, Hermione felt as if there was something more she should be doing to extricate herself from this ridiculous situation. It was that same sense she'd had that morning when she'd put away the pictures, swearing to leave Wizards behind once and for all. 

They sat in silence for nearly ten minutes. She finally stole a glance at him, only to find him finally looking directly at her. "What?" 

"You're not quite what I expected, Miss Granger...Hermione."

"Funny, you're exactly what I expected," she shot back in an irritated tone. She wasn't being entirely truthful, she thought guiltily, as images of the photo and her fascination with it over the past weeks flashed through her mind.

"I thought you would be hysterical, or ask me a hundred questions that I can't yet answer, or even start talking about how you have to correct the injustice of it all. You know that right now you wield more power than anyone in the Wizarding world – the world that cast you out when you didn't deserve it. You could walk right in and throw Dumbledore and the Ministry out on their arses for what they've done, and it's likely they couldn't fight you. What I've given you is freedom, and yet you're still here, sitting quietly. Which I have to say is the last thing I'd expect from you, of course."

"You have more to tell me," she said evenly. "I don't think I'm as free as you'd like me to think, or we'd be at Hogwarts or in London right now. We're in hiding, and you believe me to be in danger - though I'm still unclear why, of course - so I think freedom is a rather relative term."

"You were always such a thorn in my side when you were a student. Things haven't really changed."

"Your point?"

He sighed. "I didn't expect to have this conversation with you again." He nearly clapped his hand over his mouth when he realized what he had said, but he forced himself to continue to appear nonchalant in hopes that she hadn't picked up on his wording.

No luck on that point. "Again?"

Well, he'd done it now. His subconscious had forced the issue. Feeling uncharacteristically queasy, he turned to face her. He'd stared down Death Eaters, Voldemort, even a very angry Dumbledore, but none of these had quite matched up to his feelings about what he had to tell her.

"You've had a memory charm placed on you recently."

Her eyes widened. "You?"

"Yes. Last night."

"Last...oh, bloody hell. This has been a long day. It rather neatly explains the tea cups and the crazy feelings I've been having." She rubbed her temples, not daring to look him in the eyes again. There was something that made her feel both very drawn to him, and very fragile in his presence, in those eyes. She'd known it since the first time he looked at her in the photo. Now it was flesh and blood and right within striking distance.

"You agreed to it, Hermione, and at the time I thought it was best. I'm sorry. I wanted to protect you from this, but I can't protect you any longer. You have to take an active part in what is happening now that we know someone dangerous is following you even here in the States, so I should tell you everything."

"Okay," she said. "Reverse it."

"Well, that's the rub," he said. "I cast the charm, but I don't have the wand I used."

"You have your wand."

"I didn't use my wand. I used Dolores Umbridge's."

"What does she have to do with this?"

"It's complicated..."

"Everything's complicated with you! Make it uncomplicated! Holy Christ, I'd forgotten how difficult this all is. Being a Muggle is so easy compared to the intrigue and constant angst of being a Witch. Is it so much to ask that I simply be left in peace? No charms, no hexes, and no bloody stalkers!"

Snape bit his tongue in the interest of peace, though it took most of his willpower. "I will use my own wand. Let me know what you remember, and for God's sake, keep a civil tone, girl," he said through gritted teeth. He raised his wand, but she stopped him.

"You said I was a very powerful Witch now."

"Yes."

"I want you to understand this. If you hurt me, I will hex you. You understand that I'm not afraid of you any more. I'm not an easily intimidated schoolgirl and I have no particular love or loyalty to the Wizarding world. We are not on the same footing we used to be. I'll have any tone I want with you, _Severus_."

"Don't be impertinent, girl. I haven't come all this way and taken all these risks to hurt you. And to think they used to say you were _bright_." He waved his wand, murmuring quietly, and she closed her eyes, smiling at his backhanded compliment despite herself.

Suddenly, everything changed. Not only could she remember clearly what had happened at her flat the night before, but she could see other images and thoughts that were clearly not her own. Her mind was flooded with memories that included quite a bit of Narcissa Malfoy; in fact, far more of her than Hermione could stand to think of. She had memories of making love to Narcissa in a golden bed with forest tapestry hangings. Lips moved over the woman's breasts, soft sighs and unfamiliar smells flooded her mind. She saw Lucius Malfoy, and heard his voice, causing her to shiver. She was inside a cell at Azkaban, plotting revenge against someone.

"Hermione!" 

She felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her, heard a voice beseeching her, but she couldn't quite open her eyes. She was drowning in another person's memories, and they were threatening to overwhelm her. She saw Harry, huddled at a desk, scratching out sentences with blood pouring from wounds on his hands like a modern-day Christ suffering for his sins. She saw Draco Malfoy on his knees before her, and Minister Fudge caressing her cheek. She was screaming, screaming, and felt arms around her, lips in her hair, but she could not reach the arms or the lips.

"Legilimens!" 

He ran blindly down the halls of her mind, searching for her, finding no resistance but a lot of memories that were undoubtedly not her own. Finally, at the end of a hallway, he found her crumpled on the floor. He picked her up, shaking her none-too-gently. "Hermione! It's all right. You're safe now. Wake up and come back. Hermione."

No response.

"One hundred points from Gryffindor if you do not wake up, Miss Granger!"

Nothing. 

"I...I will tell you everything you wish to know, just come back. Something went wrong - we'll fix it. Wake up, girl, god damn them all for what they've done to you - wake up!"

~*~*~

Only a few feet away through a thick enchanted wall, John Thacker was seated in a shabby office chair at Malfoi Brothers' lone American office, nonchalantly casting different combinations of Locator spells. A crystal ball to his left shimmered, a hazy image in the center coalescing into his elegant British cousin.

"Dude," John said.

"Any luck?"

"Nope. But I'll find them," he said, "I'm one step behind and movin' fast."

"You can use the office as long as you want."

"Yeah, all right. I can transfigure something into a bed to flop on - hopefully I won't have to be here long, though. The surf was unbelievable back in..."

"Get her for me. I mean it - she is in tremendous danger with that bastard she's with. Snape has to be stopped." The connection winked out, and John Thacker kept lazily casting spells while sipping on his latte. "Whatever, dude." He knew the man on the other end well enough to know that most of what he said was suspect, but he was family and John was good at finding and retrieving lost things. It was just a matter of time.

~*~*~

Severus was as close to panicked as he'd ever been. His mind had been so actively trying to draw Hermione back, that he hadn't even realized that her physical body had moved close to him, wrapping her arms around him. He only became aware of her when his arms instinctively reached out to draw her closer, as if to give as much physical energy as mental to bringing her back from the spell gone wrong. Or, at least he thought it had gone wrong; he'd never had an experience with a memory charm that had to be reversed with someone else's wand. He backed out of her head, assuming that the attempts to bring her back from her own mind's dungeon were futile. He had to think of something else...quickly.

"I never should have done this," he whispered into her hair as he held her tense body. 

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she murmured.

"Hermione?" He released her, backing off as if he'd been caught being soft, but she tightened her grip on him.

"Hold me. I need you to hold me until I can see everything, Severus."

He put his arms around her again stiffly, unsure of himself in his relief and sudden realization that she _asked_ him to touch her. She laid her head on his shoulder, eyes still tightly shut. "I can see everything she knew. The wand...I see echoes of her, of spells she's performed, of sex she's participated in, dreams she's had, people she's hurt."

"Who?"

"Umbridge. I _know_, Severus, I know what she wanted. I know she's working with Lucius but that she hates him, and I know she also is using Narcissa simply to have access to Lucius' contacts and money. I know why she needed the power. _My_ power. She is not powerful herself, and she intended to use _Imperius_ to get named sole heir in Narcissa's will, and then kill her to get her share of the Black fortune. She needed the extra power to ensure that her _Imperius_ would work. Until she got caught, that is."

"Do you know why Lucius is interested?"

"Umbridge believes that he wants to use Dumbledore to get his position back as power broker in the Wizarding world, then once he does, he will kill Dumbledore. I am a pawn to ensure Dumbledore's compliance, but Lucius will kill me too when he takes my power and no longer needs me. I cannot say if that's accurate – that's simply Umbridge's perception." She spoke in a singsong voice that made Snape wonder if she was in some kind of trance. She still hadn't opened her eyes.

"So we know everyone's motivation here, finally," Severus said. "Can I release you? I tire of playing nursemaid."

"No," she said, "_we_ don't know your motivation. I suggest you start talking. I can't open my eyes until I can truly see."

"This is blackmail of the worst kind," he growled, but she could tell that he didn't mean it.

"If you are so afraid of me, tell me why you're here."

"It is a long story."

Her eyes were still closed as her hands found the back of his neck, rubbing gently. 

"We have time."

He closed his eyes too, feeling her hands, her hair, and her heartbeat against his skin, and relaxed despite himself.

~*~*~

As much as John Thacker liked to play dumb, he had done quite well for himself in his choice of career. Advanced Charms had been his area of expertise coming out of school. He'd landed a top R&D job with the Magic Lab at University of California-Berkeley. Sure, they called it something else on the door, but the researchers inside that ostensibly studied physics to the Muggle world actually had several multi-million dollar grants from top companies to develop various scientific advances using magical means. The details were never provided to the Muggles, of course; but the results were worth the nebulousness of the process as far as the sponsoring companies were concerned. The university provided facilities and took their share of the grants and said little. It was a worthy arrangement, and one that suited this young Malfoy cousin just fine.

A colleague had recently invented the logistics behind wireless 911 tracking of cell phone calls, using the Australian Ministry's unique system of tracking underage and banned Witches and Wizards. The prototype device, now sitting in John's hands rather than safely locked away in the Lab's storage drawers, was trained to locate magical energy within a one-mile radius. The technology had been adapted for GPS and wireless 911 tracking, and then the prototype was labeled and stored. John knew it was useless to him as a finder of magical people – New York was teeming with Witches and Wizards and magical creatures of all stripes – but he'd brought it along to Malfoi Brothers to tinker with it to make it show relative intensity of energy. Two magical people in one place might not be unusual, but when one of them was as well-endowed with magic as Hermione Granger was, tracking might become much simpler if he could charm the device properly.

There was just one problem, though. No matter how many times he tried different combinations of spells on the thing, it seemed to be shrouded in interference. He knew that his personal magical aura alone couldn't be scrambling it. He knew there was history of magic in the building itself, but the device showed such a high concentration of magic that he thought it must still be out of calibration. He had seated himself at the first-floor Starbucks, sipping an iced moccachino and trying to decide what course to pursue next, when it hit him. He lifted the device and stared at it. Still off the charts, but he was sitting in a Starbucks on the first floor of the same building he'd been in since he entered Manhattan. What would happen if he took a stroll down to the mall over on Broadway, or took the train a few stops up to Rockefeller Center? He nearly hit himself with his rolled-up newspaper for assuming the device was flawed when he hadn't even followed rudimentary scientific procedure.

He took a leisurely stroll down 33rd Street, getting all the way to 9th Avenue before looking at the device again.

It registered only a small amount of energy – perhaps himself and a few other Wizards or Witches in the vicinity. Ducking into an alleyway, he Apparated to the center of Prospect Park in Brooklyn. It was about the same as 33rd and 9th. He walked over to the train back to Manhattan and sat in the rear car, watching his device surreptiously as people got off and on. Chinatown was much more active and concentrated, which he had expected. He got off and changed trains to go downtown. Wall Street was not as intense, and there were no other Wizards than himself as far as he could tell in Shea Stadium when he Apparated there to catch the ninth inning of a dismal nightcap to a day-night doubleheader.

So the device seemed to function correctly. Something was afoot in the Empire State Building. Could it have been that she had been under his nose while he'd been sitting there tweaking?

It was time to find out.

~*~*~

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" she said.

"Not tonight. I'm exhausted," he said, still absently stroking her hair and holding her as if she might break.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, Hermione, tomorrow. I give you my word. I'm going to bed." He tried to disentangle himself to stand, but she held firm.

"This is ridiculous. Let me go," he said, summoning up his best irritated _'Potions Master'_ voice. "We both need our rest so we can plan our strategy tomorrow."

"You said this was just like the Room of Requirement, correct? It determines what we need, and then provides it?" 

"Yes. Your point being what exactly? And make it quick, Miss Granger."

"There's only one bed. The room decided we didn't need two, for some reason." She wasn't even trying to be coquettish, but he could see amusement in her eyes as she finally dropped her arms, crossing them over her chest.

He crossed his arms in response. "I'll take the couch."

"You don't have to."

"You're insane." He turned his back on her, wincing as he did so, and lay on the couch that had suddenly become hard, cold, and uninviting. 

How dare she play these games with him?

"Whatever." She turned around with a nonchalant shrug. Snape swiped a blanket and lay on the couch, feeling miffed at various Dumbledores', Malfoys', and a Hermione for putting him in this position. _It's not her fault, you know_, his inner Bats50 reminded him.

It was so much easier to live without the feeling of a woman in your arms. She had awakened something inside him with her anger, her fear, and the tender way she had caressed the back of his neck. The final insult was the way in which she had stubbornly refused to let him go until he promised to tell her the whole truth. Damn her, anyway. It wasn't supposed to have been like this. And the situation certainly had no guaranteed favorable outcome.

He forced his mind to think about something else that he'd been putting off. Which interested party did John Thacker represent, and why was he after Hermione? He'd looked familiar, but not familiar enough to place. He certainly would have remembered someone with such an obnoxious accent. There were a number of possibilities, none of which seemed benign.

Of course, Hermione was placing an inordinate amount of trust in him even though she still didn't know what he was after. He wasn't entirely sure it was deserved, or that anyone in this game had snow-white motives. Everyone was looking for something in that abundance of magical power for which Hermione played both an unwitting guardian and storage vessel. Everyone stood to gain – everyone, that is, except Hermione. 

Had his own motives changed, as he had uncomfortably observed earlier? Had Dumbledore's? And Malfoy – was Umbridge right about his plot to kill Albus? Severus fell asleep thinking of Narcissa Malfoy's Will, and Hermione's frizzy hair sliding between his worn fingers.


	11. Chapter 11

At precisely 4am, Hermione woke. She looked over at Severus, who was curled up in a little ball on one end of the couch, snoring softly. She smiled for a moment as she watched him sleep, remembering the warmth of his embrace and the fire in his voice when he thought she'd been hurt, and then nearly had to slap herself.

"You need tea," she thought to herself as she got up and crept quietly to the loo. New clothes were there, courtesy of the hidden _'Powers of the Room'_. She also noticed Snape's clothing from the night before hanging next to hers on a hook, along with some personal effects and a small leather case that she didn't bother to look into, despite her usual curious nature. She needed a laptop and caffeine. There had to be some kind of all-night diner or something with Internet access – this was New York City, after all.

A little voice in the back of her head reminded her that she was a marked woman right now and could no more leave this room than she could cast her magical past behind her. It was hard having a practical side. Just as she gave some thought to crawling back into bed, a small pot of steaming, cinnamon-and-vanilla scented tea appeared on the beside table, along with a new Tablet PC. She turned it on, and was delighted to discover that there was apparently some kind of built-in wireless networking.

Her eyebrow shot up. "God, the tourists don't know the half of why this building is so amazing. I could get rich selling tickets."

She willed herself not to check her mail right away, but couldn't resist a peek at her LiveJournal. She was really hoping that her obnoxious correspondent, Bats50, had left a few more comments in her absence. She snorted, thinking that the guy could give Snape a run for his money in the rude comment department. She was disappointed on that score, but noticed a private message – intended only for her eyes, apparently – from QuIdiot.

"Call me, it is insanely important. Immediately," was all it said. His phone number was listed.

She twirled a strand of her hair almost violently, finally chewing it while digging at her scalp until it protested. She was so uneasy and lost in thought about the message that she didn't hear Snape at first.

"Hermione, I asked you if you were all right." She jerked out of her thoughts to turn towards him, almost guiltily. 

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice, "I woke you up."

"I am not particularly concerned about that. But I am perturbed as to why you are on a computer at an early hour, looking like you've seen a ghost."

"I really can't explain that in a few words."

"Try me."

"Will you have a cup of tea..."

"Hermione," he said, stretching, "the computer? What is it?"

"It's just...someone I know back home asked me to call, which is kind of surprising. You don't suppose..."

"Who is it?"

She stood up, putting the Tablet PC down. "You may be trying to help me, _Professor Snape_, but that doesn't give you the right to ask details of my personal life, now does it?" She flicked the computer off, turning around before her temper flared further into a full-blown shouting match.

"I do think I have the right to ask," Snape said, also standing up, "if it might be someone trying to find you."

"It's not. It's an old friend and none of your concern," she said in a shaky voice.

"Are you going to call?"

"Sod off," she said, and ran for the only room with a lock on the door before her anger got the better of her, clutching the computer to her chest. When she got into the loo, she locked the door, cast a silencing charm with her wand, and began to scream and pound her fists against her thighs in fury. 

After a moment, she realized that she had no idea why she was so upset, and began to calm down. It was the feeling of being out of her element, not in control, and unsure of herself that caused the unexpected tantrum. She needed to bite down her pride and apologize to Snape and talk to him about what they needed to do next. 

As she washed her face, she heard a noise that sounded very much like a cell phone ring coming from Snape's little pile of things. She turned to stare at it. That couldn't actually _be_ a cell phone, of course. The man was a Wizard. He had no need for such things. Still, the sound continued to emanate from the little leather case as she picked it up in her hands. It was a dreadful invasion of privacy. She needed to take the case to him; perhaps it was some magical gizmo that he needed, or a medication Remembrall of some kind, or who knew? She turned it over, and it just fell out.

It was, indeed, what appeared to be a Muggle cell phone. It had just stopped ringing, but as it clattered to the floor she saw the number in the display. 

She picked it up, looking again in fascination at the number. Then she flipped the TabletPC back on and surfed back to QuIdiot's message. Vaguely, she was aware of her Silencing Charm wearing off and the pounding on the door, but the knocking didn't really register on her consciousness as she looked at the two numbers, the one on Snape's phone and the one in QuIdiot's message.

They matched.

~*~*~

"I haven't been able to rouse him," Minerva was saying over the Floo, "I know he talked to you last. Did you notice if he was ill?"

"My dear Professor," Lucius said smoothly, "he was tired, but well last night."

"He hasn't really seemed himself lately. I noticed he's been with you a number of times, Mr. Malfoy. Everything all right?"

"Are you insinuating something, Minerva?"

"Should I be?"

Suddenly, Lucius tumbled out of her grate. He drew himself up to his impressive height, towering over her, but even a casual observer would have noticed that his bid to take the upper hand with surprise and height wouldn't work with this woman. She stood her ground, ever unflappable, as he leaned closer. "What would I have to gain by hurting the old man who arranged for my release? Really, Minerva, are we back on the Scotch again? And to think I was the one in Azkaban."

She put one hand on her hip, and closed the other one around the wand hidden in her pocket just for good measure. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

He raised an eyebrow. 

"The Headmaster has taken ill. You are the last one to have seen him. I think you would have made the same conclusion in my place."

"Perhaps," Lucius said, seating himself without her leave on the green chintz settee in her office. She moved back behind her large oak desk, but remained standing.

"Well, since he is tired, why not give him a rest, Minerva? Surely the place can run without him for a day."

"It can," she said evenly, "but it won't. Whatever you did to him, undo it. I've never seen him like this."

"Oh, I assure you, I'm not the one who did it to him."

"Get out, Lucius," she said.

"Temper!" he hissed, "send him my regards when he awakens…if he does. He's quite aged, you know. I'll show myself out." Lucius turned, walking to the door, only to find it locked quite shut.

"I can't leave if you won't let me," he said, turning to find her with her wand trained upon him. 

"I've changed my mind," she said, and put a full-body bind on him, smirking as she stepped over him. "Poncy git."

~*~*~

John walked along the corridor near the Malfoi Brothers office, trailing his wand lightly along the walls. The wand had a yellow light at the tip; occasionally, as he walked, the light would glow more orange or even red. At these times, he painstakingly moved the wand around in a specific pattern. Sometimes a room or corridor would be revealed; sometimes a magical object was behind the wall for some reason, and sometimes he could find nothing at all. He'd been through much of the building already, but was winding his way back to the office for a quick catnap before tackling the lower floors.

Just as he rounded the corner where the office door was located, the wand flashed a particular crimson that told him something very hot was behind the wall. He laughed, because it was obviously the magical accoutrements of the Malfoi office giving off quite a bit of energy. At least he knew the spell was working properly, if it could detect his artifacts and potions and charms just behind the wall. It maybe wasn't quite in the place he might have expected, but these old magical buildings could be funny in the wave-guides and conduits of magic. 

He walked on and entered the office, not realizing that he had just missed the object of his search by eight inches. 

~*~*~

Deep in a secure corridor of St. Mungo's, a solitary light shone over an iron bed. An erstwhile hero lay on his side, his hair falling over his wide open green eyes and his trademark lightning-shaped forehead scar. A nursing aide came, murmuring calming words as she turned him in the bed with a spell. St. Mungo's required that their personnel actually attend to each patient in this ward manually rather than setting charms to do things on time. They wanted to keep up the respect in the profession that they were known for, and personal attention was only part of that bargain. Harry's body had to be turned every two hours to prevent pressure areas and bedsores, like the other comatose patients, all of whom were unable to turn themselves. 

The aide's name was Sarah Ferguson; she'd regretted the name her parents had chosen for her all her life, and not just because she looked a bit like the Duchess, all plump and red-haired and pretty as a peach, as her father would say. Sarah had tended to Harry for two years, and loved him in the way many star-struck Witches did. She'd been a year behind him at Hogwarts, and like Ginny Weasley, had harbored secret fantasies about him; unlike Ginny, she'd never let him know that fact. It had been an honor to care for him, though it made her sad almost daily to see him there with no hope of recovery.

After turning Harry, Sarah took a basin of water and some strawberry-scented shampoo and began to wash Harry's hair. While cleaning charms were certainly permitted, Sarah had always preferred hands-on care for her spell-damaged patients. She, along with a few of her nurses, believed that touching and talking helped the patients feel connected to the world, even if they were no longer a part of it. Sarah massaged his scalp, then rinsed carefully, closing his eyes with her hands so that the soap wouldn't burn them. Finally, she began drying his hair with a towel. After finishing, she smiled. "Just one more thing, young man, and you won't argue with me about it. I know we can't get it to lie flat, but at least it will have a proper combing!" She fished in the drawer for his comb and began to comb, singing a little tune that she'd heard on the WWN just that morning on the way to work.

Without warning, Harry's eyes opened again and he looked directly at her, turning his head. The comb fell to the floor with a clatter as she backed away, mouth open. 

Then his eyes closed again, and he went slack. No sound came out of her mouth as she crept closer to him, shaking him gently. "Mister Potter? Harry! Harry!"

There was no answer. Sarah was shaking as she turned towards the Nurses' station to make her report, even though she knew they wouldn't believe her. 

~*~*~

"Well?"

"I told you not to come around here any more, boy."

"Where is she, Aberforth, I swear to you I'll..."

"You'll what, Draco? Kill me? I'm afraid you're too late. I don't know where she is."

Draco slumped, studying the ghost. "She hasn't emailed in, or anything?"

"I'm the janitor, Malfoy. They don't exactly confide these things in me."

"You are a ghost. You can go in and read emails and probably even get that Karen woman to spill. She knows you and Hermione are close."

"She deserves privacy, now that she knows the truth. She'll come around."

"She doesn't know the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"Snape Obliviated her. And now, well, I don't know what to think. I thought he was trustworthy but now I'm worried. He won't pick up his phone and she hasn't called and I can't..."

"What is the real issue here, Draco? Why don't you trust him?"

Draco shook his head. "I can't tell you. Thanks anyway." Draco started to walk away, but Aberforth was in front of him in a flash. "What is it? What aren't you telling me?"

Draco closed his eyes. "I don't know who I am any more, or what to tell you. I'm sorry I bothered you." He walked out, into the hall and immediately Apparated away, despite Aberforth's entreaties to stop.

~*~*~

Hermione pocketed the phone. Shaking, she drew her wand, concealing it up her sleeve, and left the loo.

"What in the hell was that all about?" Snape yelled. She looked at his livid face, looming over hers.

She withdrew the phone. "What is _this_ all about?"

The colour drained from his face in an instant. "I was going to..."

"No," she said quietly, "no, you weren't. You are accustomed to secrets and don't know any other way to be. You weren't going to tell me anything." She drew her wand out of her sleeve and pointed it at him. "Go to sleep, Severus."

Once she was satisfied that he was out cold, she had the room create a backpack to make up for her lost luggage, a few changes of clothes and a lot of Muggle money. She stashed the Tablet and Snape's cell phone in the bag, and walked back into the loo. She waved her wand to colour her hair blonde; then changed her eyes, the contour of her face, and her body type with a glamour. Satisfied that she was mostly unrecognizable, she walked out of the room and, as far as she was concerned, Snape's life. She was going to find a place to hunker down and start over; she was well and truly done with them all. Aberforth's power would just have to stay locked away unused. They'd all have to find a way to get along without it. She wasn't going to see any of them ever again. Casting aside the last tiny shred of strange, unwanted longing for the man on the floor, she opened the door and walked out towards the elevator, right past the impressively carved doorway to the Malfoi Brothers American office.


End file.
